Dangerous
by aimorai
Summary: A normally practical mage struggles with the burdens of love and duty - neither of which she asked for. Alistair/Amell/Zevran love triangle developing. Of course, Bioware owns all of the non-original characters and settings within; I just borrow them!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Dangerous  
Author: aimorai  
Word Count: 2,324  
Summary: The first of a series -- a very practical mage tries to talk herself out of emotion by battling it with logic. Because logic ALWAYS wins. Right?

A/N: This is my first-ever fan fiction, so PLEASE -- comments, criticisms, likes, hates, all are exceptionally welcome.

* * *

Nell stared at the rose.

This whole thing was, in fact, the rose's fault. She could love and hate a thing at the same time, most easily.

Every time she looked at it, she remembered the way he'd looked at her. And those memories -- well, they were _dangerous_.

She humphed, crossing her arms and started to pace, her eyes never leaving the offending flower and its infernally perfect petals, the velvety red a cold whitish-blue around the edges. She'd frozen it lest it wither. Because she didn't want it to die. Of course, now it could also mock her for all time.

_Your fault_. She eyed the flower accusingly, and it had the gall to remain sitting there upon the pillow of her bedroll, innocent and pretty and echoing every sentiment she didn't even know she'd needed to hear.

Finally, Nell decided that a flower would, in fact, win a staring contest and she flopped down on the bedroll, incomprehensibly chuckling at herself and making sure not to crush the object of her frustration. _Yes, Nell. Hate the flower because you love the flower. That makes complete sense. I marvel at your astute logic._

The problem was, of course, that she normally was logical. The remnants of her self-depricating smile faded as Nell stared up at the top of her tent. She reveled in her logic. Cool, confident, and in control. That was all that her teachers had said about her as she passed every test, blew by the Harrowing with flying colors. She had the rare ability to keep her head under crazy circumstances -- she could think rings around most other people. She could read emotions and thoughts like books. And she loved it. As she grew older, it became almost like a game. She'd come to terms with her manipulative ability long ago and, rather than being ashamed of it, tested such boundaries all the time. It was her ability to step back and decipher situations that led her through her Harrowing. The same ability that overruled her heart and led her to read between the lines and know that Jowan, her friend, could never win. To let the Circle try and take him, lest his life or Lily's be forfeit. A life was more important than anything...

Nell was snapped of her reverie by the abrasive sound of clanking pots in the campsite -- someone cleaning up after the late dinner. It had been a very long day. Connor had been saved but the Arl was still near death. After racing to the Circle and back and suffering two long bouts of fighting in the Fade, Nell barely remembered the trip. It all blurred together. She remembered flashes.... Wynne at her side, trying to help the backlash from the Fade to leave faster.... She remembered Leliana humming as they walked, a quiet, happy ditty.... She remembered herself being carried at one point by Alistair...when was that? Before or after Connor?

She shifted unconsciously on her bedroll as she thought about being carried by _him_, and forcibly banished the thought. Only to remember again the way he'd looked later, once she'd recovered and eaten, holding out a rose.

A _rose_. And telling her that she was like it. A perfect thing in the middle of disaster. Telling her _thank you_ and telling her that he somehow saw beneath her exterior to the roiling sadness and doubt and that all of that was still _wonderful._

"All your fault." She murmured again to the flower at her side, blowing an auburn curl out of her eyes. How could _Alistair_ of _all people_ see through her? Alistair...

She felt that twinge in her lower stomach again, the one she associated with thinking of him, and shifted again. She felt full of energy and also amazingly tired. Nell knew herself well enough to know that she had burgeoning feelings for her fellow Warden. It wasn't the first time she'd desired a man. All the physical maladies were present. But something... something wasn't like before. Normally, with men, it was all a game. Scripted, almost. She could see where they were coming from a mile away because they played by the rules. Flirtation and looks. Propositions. It was like a dance, and Nell was always an excellent dancer. No one ever was simple and honest and straightforward. That way lay madness. Feelings and vulnerability and bluntness and honesty and...and _roses!_... that way led to...

Needing someone.

And when the world was in danger, _needing_ someone was the last thing Nell...well...needed. It was enough to try to maintain good relations with her diverse group of followers, all of whom completely and utterly put her in control. The person in control shouldn't _need _someone. They shouldn't care about whether their decisions might make someone upset on a personal level. They should analyze and decide -- her specialty! But now... these days she found herself wondering what he really thought when he cracked all those jokes. Wondering if he always agreed with her. Wanting to know him more than on the surface. Wondering if his stomach got twinges.

Madness.

Nell took a deep breath and forced herself to stand, shaking out her hair and absently smoothing out her robes. She needed to nip this entirely in the bud. Her own feelings she knew she could control, but it was _his_ she worried about. Alistair was so.. so..

_Genuine? Honest? Innocent? ...Enticing?_

Dangerous. She knew what lay down roads of affection, while he assuredly did not -- or maybe only in a vague sense. Even if she could not stop her desire entirely, she could certainly put an end to his. Nell picked up the rose. It was cold in her fingers as she turned it about, frozen in perfection, somehow seeming to smile at her in that same way he did. That warm way....the way that he did when he was being serious. The way she secretly liked.... He could probably melt the flower.

She didn't hear her tent flap open, but eventually she did hear the scuffle of boots. She turned, and -- Maker take him! -- there he was, apparently bidden by her thoughts. Nell swallowed a curse off her tongue as she saw him, and he slowly, rakishly, lifted one brow. She must have been a sight, standing there, perusing his gift, studying it as if it had three heads.

"Am I... interrupting? What- what exactly are you doing?"

"Ah..." Nell felt her tongue dart out to wet her lower lip, taking him in. He was mostly-in her tent but somehow still seeming to hesitate in the doorway. Most of his armor was off for the evening, likely until his watch. Seeing Alistair in plainclothes was always a little jarring -- simply because the size of him without his armor was still... impressive. The pendant they'd found at Redcliffe glittered with reflected firelight around his neck. His face, his open eyes, darted to the flower and back to hers. They held that similar warm expression she found so dangerous. _He smolders, that's what it is_ her mind piped up. Smoldering was a good word for it, but it seemed to not be quite right.

_It's that he's so... open._ Yes, that was it. He didn't attempt to hide the warm affection in his gaze; Nell surmised that he didn't even think that it needed to be hidden. Pretense was not exactly Alistair's style -- a deflecting joke, yes, but you could always immediately tell when he was feeling odd, or awkward, or hurt. He didn't -- probably couldn't -- hide behind a mask. And that's what was so endearing, and what puzzled her so in their interactions. They could verbally fence, but the underlying feeling... on his end, at least... never drew back. He wasn't scared of it... just... unsure of it. And that made all the difference. It's what made him so...

"Enchanting..." Nell breathed the word out loud. And then blinked. Ah... see, this is why it was dangerous!

"Eh... enchanting? The flower?" Alistair blinked, looked at the rose deliberately, and then quirked a cheeky grin. "So you did decide to use it as a weapon after all! I think you could use the rosy scent far more effectively than I ever could. The thorns are of course, a given. Excellent idea!"

Nell smirked, her reply tone was droll. "Yes, I made it as frosty as you claim I am."

"Well, with your new weapon cold, perhaps you could warm up a bit."

Nell summoned her best withering look and placed the rose back down gently on her bedspread, crossing her arms once she straightened and looking at Alistair pointedly. "I'll keep it in mind. Can I help you?" It was the first time he'd thought to enter her tent. The mage reminded herself that she wanted to nip his emotions in the bud. Best to do it quickly, painlessly.

"I ah, just wanted to check on you. You barely ate anything. Wynne mentioned that can happen..." He looked at her, with open concern, perhaps tempered by the straight line of his lips. Her stomach twanged. Nell shifted, putting a hand on her hip to hide the motion.

"With the Fade, yes."

"Yeeesss.... And?"

"And I am fine. Just tired."

"Right! So. Are you going to tell me to mind my own business now?"

Nell furrowed her brows a little bit. "Oh." Perhaps she was being... too dismissive? She bit her lip. "No. I mean... I am happy you checked on me. I don't mean to be rude." Ah. Lame. She'd not had to do this before. Play by the rules, Alistair!_ ...Or don't._

"Just your frosty self." One corner of his lip came up into a little smile. "I don't take it personally. Much. So many wounds, one becomes immune after awhile." One hand came up playfully to clutch at his chest over his heart. "Then again, the rose survived the frost, so perhaps there's hope for some of us." He tilted his head in the direction of the flower, and Nell was forced to smile.

"I hope I thanked you properly for it. I was... tired." Her hand came up to rub at a furrow she felt forming between her brows. She was botching this. He shouldn't be staying in the tent for so long. _I don't want....dangerous_.

"Eeyeessss... you mentioned that. I actually thought you might be asleep." His eyes watched her rubbing hand, but his tone remained playful and casual.

"Can't sleep." Nell replied automatically, then blinked. No. She hadn't meant to say that. ...Damn disarming man.

"Why not?" That concerned look was back, and her stomach twitched. Twice. Nell shifted restlessly as he seemed to move to come in, all the while looking somehow more concerned. She humphed, and quickly resorted to more familiar tactics. Anything to keep him from coming all the way inside. That would be bad. She wasn't equipped with complete mental acuity. _Dangerous._

"Well..." She tried to make her tone light and teasing..."I can't sleep in case well-meaning Grey Wardens decide to slip into my tent in the evening. Or, you know, darkspawn. Vigilance. I need to keep alert for my... propriety and my life"

He grinned, again in that same cheeky way, and his hand flew to his heart again. "She equates me with darkspawn! Thorns, woman!" He started to back out, and then he seemed to regard her for a moment. In the pit of his eyes, something flashed, and he spoke again in that dangerous, soft, more serious tone. "Although... I find I need to ask why you are thinking about your propriety in relation to nefarious Grey Warden men... when there are Antivans running loose around camp."

The tent suddenly felt a lot smaller. She hadn't meant to imply... oh... he twisted her words! _Did he? _Yes, he did. He must have! She didn't say that.

She felt herself snort, and then open and close her mouth once -- she must look rather like a fish, and he smiled very slowly, all teeth and lips and eyes and tall and she could feel how warm.... _Get it together, woman._

"I should feel -you- to the darkspawn, Alistair!" She laughed, intending to fully subvert the tenor of that grin, and started to push him out -- his surprise betrayed by his eyebrows flying high. "In fact... I think I shall put you on the edge of camp right now. Bait, you see. That way I can sleep in peace knowing Grey Wardens and darkspawn alike can't get me. Agreed?" Nell didn't wait for him to reply, but continued to shove until they were both out of the tent. That achieved, she grabbed Alistair by the elbow and started to haul him imperiously towards the trees lining the edge of their clearing. She pointedly tried not to note the surprised looks of Leliana, Wynne, and Zevran as they passed by the main fire. He was sputtering and laughing, though anxiousness started to creep more and more into his tone as it appeared she was, in point of fact, serious.

"Ah.. Nell? I'm not wearing my armor, you know.... if you do intend to put me at watch... might I...?"

"No, I said I was feeding you to the darkspawn. Your armor would crunch something awful, and I'd really like to save it if you won't be needing it."

"Right... can I object to this plan?"

"No."

"Duly noted. I still am."

"Too bad." Nell pulled up abruptly when she realized they were now entirely under tree cover. "There.. this should do."


	2. Chapter 2

Word Count: 1655  
Summary: In which the rose wins this round!

Nell released Alistair's elbow after a heartbeat or two and neatly clasped her hands in front of her, turning towards him archly, a smile playing over her lips despite her best intentions at appearing serious. She hoped the darkness covered it well. Some purple of twilight still hung heavily in the light that weaved its way through the tree cover, but night was fast encroaching.

Alistair, for his part, simply looked confused. His eyes raked the interior of the little clearing -- about wide enough for half a dozen paces, she'd surmised, but hadn't cared beyond that.

_Just turn and go now, before he says something. Leave him confused and amused and yet somehow kicked from intimacy._ That was the right way to go about it, she thought. Alistair needed a gentle and delicate and sure hand. End it quickly and neatly.

She turned on her heel to walk crisply back towards her tent in triumph when his voice filtered up, somehow amplified by the relative confinement of trees and brush. "You sure do pick the spots, Frosty."

She paused in mid-step before processing that statement, and executed a long, slow, puzzling turn-about.

"……..Frosty?"

"Mm." Alistair ignored the incredulous tone of the question and raised a hand, waving towards the opposite end of the clearing. Nell pinched her lips slightly and deigned to look, mildly curious. And then blinked. _Oh Maker, but you do play cruel jokes.__  
_  
Across the other end of the clearing, soft blossoms of white peaked out from the brush that lined the edge of the small river they'd chosen to camp near. The brush rambled along about hip-high, the flowers an inch or two in diameter. Roses. _Wild_ roses. Oh, how bloody romantic. She could feel the red rose, that charlatan! back in her tent laughing all the way down here. She felt her lips pinch almost painfully tight, and her brow furrow up. "Oh. Well I-" She cut short to turn towards him and mutter something lame in order to retreat.

Alistair had somehow moved. She was so used to all that clanking armor marking his location; his natural quiet was almost unnerving. On the far right edge of the clearing, he'd plucked one of the white sprays and looked at her. At that distance, he was not much more than an outline, but the sheen of his eyes was somehow mischievous.

"These are white ones."

"Your powers of observation are ever astute." Nell used lazy, clipped tones, attempting to sound bored.

Alistair clucked his tongue in mock disapproval, ambling back towards Nell and holding out the white spray with a flourishing bow. "More suited to you, Frosty. Add it to your weapon collection, if you must. Not that you need it, of course."

Nell plucked the spray from his hand without managing to touch him at all. "Thank you, Alistair." She said it lamely on purpose, her fingers idly twirling the flower and she glanced down at it. The white stood starkly against the purplish-blue night. Pretty. She felt her forehead tightening again and her mind scrambled for a polite-but-vague exiting line when she quite suddenly felt a warmth against her skin, directly between her eyebrows. _Very_ warm -- it felt like a brand, but also pleasant. She lifted her head quickly in surprise find that Alistair had placed his thumb there and was rubbing, gently. His eyes were focused on the same spot in a drawn frown, as if mightily displeased with her forehead. For a moment she was shock-still in surprise until some part of her mind yelled _No touching!__  
_  
Nell jerked her head back, again awkward, caught off-guard.

He jerked, too, at the intensity of her reaction. And then settled his eyes on her own, that same frown of disapproval marking his features. "Your head does this… thing. When you're upset. Or worried. It.. It almost looks like it hurts. And it makes you look so tired."

"I am tired." Nell retorts, too quickly, and Alistair cleared his throat in obvious embarrassment.

"I just wanted to…" he sighed, and rubbed a hand over his own face. "…You just look like you're worrying about something and I wasn't sure how to ask. You never talk about yourself, you know." His tone was quiet and resigned, as if waiting for her rebuff.

"That… doesn't matter." She felt her muscles stiffening in a fine tension.

"It does to me. If you're worried, I mean. You talk to everyone else about their troubles...soooo…" He trailed off, looking a bit hopeful. _Temptingly_ hopeful, somehow.

Something inside of Nell tightened, thrummed, and broke. Andraste's Sword, he just didn't take a hint, did he? Fine then.

"Of _course_ I'm worried!" Nell snapped off, harshly, and he withdrew half a step, still regarding her, but there was something… deflated about him. She scowled, her hands balling into fists at her side. The spot on her forehead still felt ridiculously warm, and it seemed like a catalyst - words bypassing her brain and flying out of her mouth.

"There's darkspawn and possessed children and walking dead and archdemons! I'm having nightmares, I can't sleep. I don't know _what_ I'm doing, or _where_ to go next, other than on forced marches to more people needing more things from me. Half of the time I forget the world's about to end because someone's _personal_ world is in danger and I have to _fix_ everything because that is what I _do_. I think so the rest of you don't have to! It's what I'm _supposed_ to be doing, of course, but I don't _actually_ know what I'm _really_ supposed to be doing!" She felt twin spots of color rising up in her cheeks as she spat out a lot of the vile and resentment that had been building up. "I don't want to be leading this little adventure half of the time but no one _else _is taking the damn job, are they?" She lifted her arms, waving them in the air, the flower tracing mad patterns as some of the bad energy vented out.

Alistair retreated again, another half-step, his widened eyes given away by the increased moonlight reflecting off of their brown depths. Some primal part of her used his retreat to press her advance and she actually whirled closer to him, bringing up the arm holding the flower and pointing it at him, accusingly. And why not? Some less logical part of her mind found it fitting. The roses _were_ all his fault!

"I cannot. Have. Friends. Don't you understand that? I'm in _charge_. I have to be capable and decisive and…and I have enough to care about already! My heart breaks because I _know_ that for every single thing I do, there are ten things I did _not _do. I've had to decide against the best friend I ever had in this world. I _condemned_ him to a fate worse than death because I _had_ to and because it was the right thing and sometimes I _hate_ the right thing! But… but I've been depended on and put on pedestals my entire life and it's a _long_ way to fall!" Her voice started to crack a little and Nell stood there, breathing shallowly, staring into Alistair's shocked face. Her voice gained strength even as the rest of her felt piteously weak."Do you want me to fall off? Is that it? You want to hear all this and start to _question_ me? Well that's too bad. I won't _give_ you the damn pleasure. Because I absolutely _refuse_ to disappoint you, do you _hear me_??"

She brought the hand wielding the flower and actually whacked it right on his face, hard, across his nose. Three white petals fell off, floating down to the ground in an ethereal denouement to the near-screech of her voice just a few moments earlier. She lowered her head and watched them, shell-shocked, completely unnerved by her own outburst.

They both stood there, in the creeping darkness, afraid to say anything. Nell felt her body still coiled with tension. Embarrassment. She merely stared at the ground and stewed. _Yes, yes that went very well. Good job, woman._

She wasn't sure what she was sensing from Alistair. He just seemed to be...breathing. Somehow, his breath was ragged as if he were the one who had just spewed nonsense and bitterness. His arms, at the top of her vision, seemed to lift and lower in spasmodic starts. Nell finally closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Somehow, she had to start to retract all of…. that. At the same moment, he let out a shivering sigh.

And she felt that warmth again, amazing and solid and heavy and comforting. Instead of on her head, it curled tentatively around her hands, clutched in front of her. She didn't have the strength or presence of mind to really retract -- so she just let him touch her hands, passively, a bit surprised. It was like she was observing everything ten seconds after it actually happened. Her head felt too heavy to even lift.

"By the Maker, Nell…I'm sorry." The words were a breath, with that odd tone of wondering and… something else she couldn't place. _Oh good. Pity. That is -exactly- what I wanted._

She shifted her eyes to stare at the grip of his hands around her own. He squeezed gently. Tentative. Somehow she lifted her head to look up towards him and spoke her mind.

"I don't need your pity, Alistair." The words had no bite, though she'd meant them to. She sounded simply weary, even to herself.

"…Pity? You...you think this is pity?" He, conversely, sounded strained, like he just ran a mile in full armor. "No! No…" He cleared his throat. "No, I meant I'm sorry that I didn't ask you a lot sooner."

Nell felt her eyes widen slowly.

"…What?"


	3. Chapter 3

Author: aimorai  
Word Count: 2898

* * *

Alistair's lips twisted a bit and he tried again to reach her.

"If you thought you were scaring me then… Sorry? Except when you hit me with your fearsome weapon…shaking in my boots. I swear." his voice trailed off and he started to slowly smile. She was close enough to see most of his features. His sepia eyes were alive and almost dancing, and Nell's stomach flopped three distinct times. Her lips parted a little bit, but nothing came out.

Alistair tugged on her hands, which he'd fully captured by this point, and led her three steps to a convenient nearby log, tugging her down to sit as he did.

"Well, to embarrass you further, I'm going to ask you about your blood mage friend now."

Nell still felt like she was watching herself from somewhere outside of her fuzzy head. She was still embarrassed, to be certain. Still ashamed of herself. Still having absolutely _no_ idea what Alistair was about with this line of questioning and sudden change of demeanor. He appeared… determined about something, besides all of the easy humor he was likely putting on for her benefit.

"Jowan?" Her voice was almost like a croak.

"Yess.. That was his name. Was _he_ your best friend?" They'd left Jowan in the hands of Bann Teagan for the nonce, but Nell's heart quavered just a little, knowing his fate was only delayed. She replied in a whisper, looking out towards the roses. Alistair's face remained in the corner of her vision.

"He still is my friend, Alistair. Even if he is 'the blood mage' as you say. Even if I barely know him now, he is still my friend." Her voice was soft. She answered automatically now, she felt leaden and extremely odd, not in control of herself.

"And you betrayed him."

"…Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I felt I must."

"Because he was a blood mage?" Alistair ventured. His voice was ineffably chipper.

Nell's eyebrows lifted a bit and turned to face him fully. His demeanor remained relaxed on the log, though he still held her hands. She had no desire to remove them; the warmth was like an anchor to the world. His face betrayed his concern and the fact that they were not exactly talking about the weather, however. He was…. trying to cheer her up. In a really odd, backhanded way. Talking about Jowan was not likely to do the trick. Something in her mind reminded her… something about trying to drive him away. Well, if he knew how she treated those closest to her, might it do the trick? Nell blew a wave of auburn from her face. To her surprise, his eyes flicked immediately to the hair as it moved, as she replied.

"I betrayed him before I knew he…_dabbled_…as he put it." She wet her lips, then continued. "I betrayed him because he meant to leave the tower. Destroy his phylactery." She paused. Alistair, being a former templar, would understand the meaning of that. Indeed, his brows drew together. "I was… afraid. I trusted him but it scared me. So. I told. It ended up being the right thing…but…" _Was it the right thing?__  
_  
"But when you made the decision you didn't know that." He finished for her, and she nodded softly.

"I didn't know if it was right. I didn't do it because it was _right_. I did it because I was…afraid."

"I see." He paused, and his lips made an odd motion. Not quite a smirk. "Sooo… was he your lover?"

Nell started and a funny sound came out of her throat, somewhere between a chortle and a laugh. If she'd been drinking water, she would have spit it out…"_Jowan??_" She nearly sputtered. The surprise of the question knocked some of her wits back into her head.

He nodded somberly. All serious, all of a sudden. "I know…you know you told me that you've…"

"…Licked a lot of lampposts?" Nell finished. All of a sudden, it seemed she was the one in the strangely good humor, and he seemed serious and out-put. She raised her brows at Alistair and answered kindly.

"No. Jowan and I never…" she trailed it off. "And I don't even know if I would call any of them…_lovers_…It's hard to describe. I mean, I didn't love them." She pursed her lips a little in thought and spoke as the words came. It was an odd habit for her, but it came so dangerously easy with him. Maybe because that was how _he_ talked. "You know that mages aren't supposed to marry. Or have children. So we view it in… in a different way, is all." Tension reliever. Flash in the pan. A game.

"What _way?_" He seemed… agitated.

"It's like… I don't know." How do you describe casual sex with a virgin who considers it an act of pure love? "We're not bound by marriage. You don't view people as _permanent_. You… follow whims. You connect with people when you feel it. It's like an art. A game."

"A game." He repeated. He looked at Nell for a long moment, considering. He actually looked quite thoughtful, and she wondered if he was turning off to her. _Just like you wanted, right?_ Sure. Just ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach...

He surprised her. Again. Suddenly he gave a bright smile and leaned his face a little closer.

"Well I do like games! What are the rules?"

Her eyes flew open. She could feel her eyelids strain. Her voice sounded very far away. "..Rules?"

"Games have rules." His grin was positively impish. Infectious. She quite had to struggle not to smile, so she clung desperately to her surprise.

"Ah." She licked her lips and did her best to find a logical answer. "Well. I suppose. It depends on the situation."

"Situation, situation. Let's say… a very dangerous man… who has been compared to darkspawn, mind you!" He gave her a mock conspiratorial glance… "Let's say this man was trying to coax a more reluctant game player. What would he do?" He looked at her so straight-faced, after such an obvious and ridiculous question, that Nell was forced to bubble out a little laugh. His grin only widened.

"Ah. Well." Nell shifted a little bit. This was an odd tack to take. Some part of her was screaming _bad bad bad bad bad bad_ but she didn't quite remember what was so bad about it.

"Normally he would… compliment her. A lot. And try to get her alone. He would tell her that… she did not have to do anything she did not want to do. That he wanted nothing more from her than she gave, and he would be so humbled by her affection. Or.. Or something like that." It sounds very odd to explain courtship and rules thereof in such terms, and her voice is laughing a little.

Alistair's eyebrows flew up, almost mockingly…"Sooooo… he lies a little, and says nice things, and women swoon? By the Maker, why have I not had dozens of admirers by now? I'm very suave, you know. They all say it."

"Oh yes, very."

Alistair snorted. "I almost forgot about you, Frosty. I was talking with Nell, so if you don't mind very much…"

Nell clicked her tongue with a little smirk. Somehow, that tack had entirely worked and brought her back to herself for the moment. "Mm, yes, that's how you tell a woman what you want her to do." She blew an errant wave of hair out of her face to emphasize the point.

"I was polite!"

"Yes! Very!" She agreed dramatically, using the same words to annoy him all over again.

Alistair shifted a little on the log, looking down at his hands over hers, almost surprised to see he was still holding them. She did the same. It had been so natural, she hadn't thought to move them… even after she'd recovered. She was still looking when she heard his next statement.

"You know… I hate your hair."

Nell blinked, her head raised agonizingly slowly. She blinked again, directly into his face.

"…Pardon me?"

"Your hair. It's awful." He actually sounded serious. His face was odd -- it was straight and somehow…like he'd made a decision.

Nell felt her lips purse as he continued.

"Really. Terrible. You should cut it, because it's always falling out and getting in your eyes. It's distracting. I try to look at you and have a nice conversation and there's hair everywhere."

"…I see."

"Yes, and your eyes are very annoying too. Too many colors. I don't know what to call them."

"Most would use the term 'hazel' Alistair." Her tones sounded clipped to her own ears. Despite herself, she was annoyed. And surprised. What _was_ he on about?

"Hmm. Most of all I hate your forehead. When it's all scrunchy. When it makes you look so upset. I want to smash it in, sometimes." His hands shifted around hers; she barely felt it. Her mouth opened a little and then snapped shut. She felt her eyes narrow.

"So. To be certain I understand. You hate my hair, and my eyes, and you want to… smash my face. Do I have that right?"

Suddenly, _his_ face was a lot closer. And his body. When had that happened? She felt the length of his thigh very close to her own. Close enough that she could feel the heat of his core which was, if anything, warmer than his hands. Her mind spun just a bit and her stomach seemed to do some kind of queer dance.

"No. No, you don't have that right." His pitch was lower. Quieter. This close, his eyes practically glowed into hers.

"Let me try again. I hate your hair, because when it falls into your face like that, it makes me want to… touch it and move it away. I hate that your eyes have so many colors because I don't know which one is more beautiful. I've actually sat and thought about it, you know." For just a moment, he seemed to tease. It also seemed to Nell that his face was creeping ever closer. She felt… paralyzed. His voice weaved around her like a buffer from thought.

"I hate your forehead because when it wrinkles, I know that you're sad or upset, and I never knew what to do about it. I want it never to do that again. Oh, and I forgot to mention your mouth." As he said that, Nell's gaze, absolutely unbidden, dropped to Alistair's mobile lips, which suddenly seemed to be excessively close. She watched as he formed his words, she felt his breath trickle over her own lips and her own breathing hitch. "I hate your mouth most of all, because all I ever want to do is…" He trailed off. He seemed to be a heartbeat away, and Nell's heavy lids fell. The warmth of his body so close was like a drug. His hands anchored her in place without tugging at all, and Nell felt a shiver of fine tension run down her spine.

And she waited like that for… heartbeats? Full seconds?

Nothing happened.

The sudden annoyance of her entire body prompted Nell to open her eyes.

To an extremely amused and smug Alistair, still at the same distance. He lifted a brow in seeming triumph.

"So I fooled you, did I?"

Nell's mouth flew open and she felt blood rush to her face. If she thought she was embarrassed _before_-!

"Alistair!!" She yanked her hands from his and balled her fists in the front of his shirt, meaning to throw him from the log, or something else dramatic like that. She never got to finish that thought.

Alistair's freed hands soared upwards to Nell's flushed face, framing her jaw. All of the amusement drained from his features and he had the same look about him as when he'd handed her that damned rose. Nell froze. The roughened fingers of his right hand curled a little on the soft, sensitive skin of her throat and her nerves skittered fully back to life. The sensation caused her to sigh audibly and her face tilted upwards -- of its own accord or at his urging, she couldn't tell. His head dipped, all determination and smoldering eyes and the very tips of his lips brushed on hers, temptation incarnate.

"Fooled you again." He breathed, before she felt him tense just a little under her hands and apply the gentlest of kisses, a light pressure grazing across her lower lip.

Somewhere in the far reaches of Nell's mind, something screamed for her to stop him. Push him away. This was exactly the opposite of what she had supposedly wanted to happen.

The rest of her body, however, positively crowed in appreciation.

This small, innocent kiss was like a shockwave, sending lightning from her mouth and directly into the pit of her stomach. Oh, and it was innocent. She could sense he'd never done this before, and the thought of pushing him away, _denying_ him this, ruining the first ever… No. She absolutely could not do it. And since she couldn't stop, there was nothing to do but to give it her all.

He seemed to hesitate, and Nell kicked herself for thinking about it at all. She let go of her brain and let her mouth take over, softening under him and returning his gentle pressure. It was all the encouragement he needed, as his mouth hardened twice over for every degree of softness she gave. Alistair's fingers softly stroked under her throat again and Nell made a soft purring sound of pure appreciation, warmth radiating out to flush and dew her skin, all the way to the tips of her breasts under her robe. He made a sharp, indrawn breath at her reaction, angling his head slowly. Nell sighed, causing her lips to part. Her hands let go of her fistfuls of his shirt and grasped very softly on either side of his neck, encouragingly.

Some part of her was aware that she was teaching as much as she was experiencing. He seemed to take the hint -- a quick study, her body exalted -- and he angled his head more and mimicked the parting of her lips. She showed him how, gently, moving her mouth over first his upper and then his lower lip. It didn't take much before he seemed to both relax and grow more tense, his fingers firming ever so lightly around her jaw and throat and he re-took control. She willingly gave. He feasted slowly on her mouth, learning and wondering with the hot brand of his mouth, and she followed, ever softening, ever giving to him. His amazement, his perfect contentment in the kiss that only happens the first time, was infectious. Slow waves of sensation crawled down her spine to her belly. His body was so warm, his mouth was so firm. Wanting, and sated, all at the same time.

Almost as if in a dream, his tongue found hers between parted lips. It sparked a wildfire. Nell opened her mouth wider in full acceptance, encouraging him. The next sweep of it, like molten fire in her mouth, was much less hesitant. He made a strangled sound, between a sigh and a groan, repeating the invasion. Her hands found their way into the hair at the back of his head, curling. At some point, his free hand had found rest on her hip -- she became aware of it because his fingers tightened like a vise. It stirred enough of Nell's senses back into her head, with enough of a warning.

_Not too fast. _

Alistair was, after all, inexperienced. Nell's body railed against the thought of pulling away. It would be cold and there would not be his mouth and his hands and his smell which made her entire contented world. What was the world if it was not like this? It couldn't possibly be good.

But she must.

With a groan, Nell gave herself a moment. The kiss had been for him, she could make just a _moment _her own, surely. Nell arched her body so that her breasts pressed and slid up along his chest, and her tongue slid forward, sinuously gliding along his and then into his mouth, deeply, crushing her lips upon his to the point of near-bruising. Underneath her hands, she felt his muscles seize, and then lock.

She backed off, slowly, pulling her tongue out only swirling it into his mouth a final time to remember the taste of him. He seemed dazed. She pressed a soft kiss to his lips a final time before moving her mouth away entirely. He followed, brushing his lips again once or twice -- as reluctant to break contact as she was. She squeezed her hands around his neck in commiseration._ I know_, she hoped the touch said. It seemed to work, because he slumped forward, his forehead resting on her own. She let him. Their breaths mingled, heartbeats thudding in their ears, the only seeming sounds for miles.

Nell opened her eyes first. Slowly. She looked under her lashes at the person who'd made her feel all that, when she'd never thought to feel any of it again.

It was still Alistair.

Alistair.

_Dangerous._


	4. Chapter 4

Author: aimorai  
Word Count: 2027

* * *

She regarded Alistair for a long moment and attempted to take stock while he sat slumped against her, looking for all the world like he was recovering from a serious blow to the head.

Her own head was buzzing pleasantly, feeling both like it was full to bursting and flushed, but also empty, as if all her blood had flowed down to… _other_, more nefarious body parts. Her breasts were slightly swollen, sensitized from the light brush against his too-warm chest. Her legs were a bit weak. Her stomach, while having ceased its endless flipping nonsense, now had that curious low ache that could only be associated with one particular desire.

Oh, yes. Nell had it bad.

Slowly, unbidden and unwanted, thoughts returned. While most of them were pleasant, that part of her mind that she suddenly found very annoying was berating her, pounding its little fists on the inside of her skull.

_Stupid idiot. Weak, selfish, manipulative, sinful mage._

Nell sighed. None of it was going to do any good, not while he remained gloriously sated against her. In her heart of hearts, Nell got all her deepest satisfaction from pleasing others. Making them happy -- in _all_ categories. She couldn't ruin this for him. She could push him off, declare it over and done, and a thousand other cruel things.

But it would cost him dearly.

Even if he got over it, over her rejection, you never got back your first kiss and all the memories around it. She couldn't do it to him. Despite her new nickname, she wasn't a frosty bitch.

As she came to that conclusion, Alistair finally opened his eyes. He gazed for an interminable moment at her lips, and she watched, amazed that she could seem to _feel_ his gaze. Just from the look, her lips tingled. The small line of pulsing sensation traveled across her lower lip and then to her upper, and she couldn't help but dart her tongue out to wet them. At that, he seemed to snap out of his daze, and lifted his eyes to hers. They'd darkened up, seeming almost blacker than the darkness of night that had finally closed its curtain around the sun.

He opened his mouth to try to say something, but his voice cracked like a twelve-year-old's. He cleared his throat, his lips twisting almost ruefully, and tried again.

"Maker's breath, but you're beautiful." He paused, looking at her so openly, with such obvious worship, and Nell felt that blush creep its way back to her cheeks. It was so simple and so _real _of a compliment.

"I'm a lucky man." He paused, like he was trying to think, and then seemed to give up on it and just started talking. "I- I didn't really mean it about your hair and your eyes and… well, you know. I- I don't hate any of it. I mean -if you changed a thing I'd…" he was stumbling, tripping. Nell could imagine that his tongue likely felt swollen -- hers felt the same. His voice kept wavering in pitch, too, like he had to re-learn how to use his mouth for speaking instead of kissing.

_It was made for kissing_ some new, deeper part of her mind piped up. The damn man made her hear voices.

"…Alistair?" Nell interrupted at a convenient pause. She didn't attempt to fully speak. She just whispered.

"Uh…huh?" He stopped, blinking, looking at her.

"I know. Shut up."

"…Right."

She smiled softly, giving in to an urge to press a small, soft kiss to him again. He immediately reacted and surged forward, seeming eager to go at it all night. Nell chuckled against his mouth and retreated before she gave in to his demand. Easing backwards, she somehow convinced her thigh, through much protest, to inch away from his, trying to break contact with the addictive heat of his body. It was hard. He seemed to keep leaning into her. Or maybe she was leaning into him? Gravity seemed a little funny all of a moment. The world was on a new tilt.

With more of her wits returning, Nell figured the easiest way to get out of this moment and back to reality was lightly, but quickly. She cleared her throat and managed to get her eyes to look towards the ground. She opened her mouth to speak-

"That wasn't… too fast, was it?" His voice was soft, gravelly and serious.

She turned, and found he looked suddenly worried. She found a smile coming easily to her lips and she shook her head, gently.

"No…I mean, I wasn't expecting that…" _I was -expecting- to grind this crush under my heel._ "But it wasn't too fast."

Nell knew if she'd had her way, she'd have kissed him entirely senseless, and then some. Her body had taken over something fierce, and it had been very, very hungry. She'd nearly forgotten what it was like to feel so passionate, if she'd ever actually had it been so urgent before. Only an even more basic knowledge of his unreadiness had prevented it, for which instinct she thanked the Maker and Andraste, too.

Alistair let out a quick breath and ran his hand over his face and up through the short crispness of his hair. Nell's palms itched, remembering the texture as she'd grasped at it. "I… I don't really know what to do, now." he said, and then laughed a little sheepishly at the admission.

"Now…Now we stand up." Nell started, and managed, to do so, supremely satisfied that she did it gracefully. It felt cold, upright. The log was so _warm,_ damn him. He stood a little too quickly and with much less panache, seeming to grasp for her hand as he did so. She let him, and then felt something like silk.

He'd pressed the little white rose back into her hand -- somehow, he must have ended up with it in all the grabbing.

"I really want you to have this one too."

She looked -- despite the lost petals when she'd whacked him, it was still beautiful, and she merely nodded and smiled into his eyes. He glowed all over again, and Nell tried not to grimace.

Oh, with the way he was acting, the whole _camp _was going to know that something had happened. If they didn't already. How long had they been gone? Minutes? Tens of minutes? An hour? Entirely impossible to say.

"Alistair… Well." She attempted her best grin. "I suppose you've earned the right not to be fed to the darkspawn tonight. But let this be a lesson to you!" She did her best imperious wave.

His glow slowly suffused into an absolutely _wicked_ smile to rival any of Zevran's.

"Oh, I've learned more than one lesson this evening, fearless leader."

_So have _I. Though she wasn't sure she at all liked what she'd learned.

"Alright. Well. I am going to go back to my tent now. I am still tired, after all. And you… you are going to… do something else."

He arched a brow at her in response, still grinning and appearing ever-so-pleased.

"What?" They seemed perfectly reasonable actions to Nell.

"Not exactly the most specific directions." he drawled out in such a very _male_ way that Nell finally caught his drift, and she gave him her best narrow-eyed look.

"You get the point. Don't think you've addled my wits, sir. It'd take far more than that."

"Does that mean I have permission to try?" He still oozed pride and Nell scoffed. This was so _not_ going in the direction she'd intended.

"No." She waved dismissively and he chuckled before sketching her a passably elegant bow.

"Then I will leave you to your tent. Goodnight, my lady." He looked towards her and his voice was so tender at the last that Nell had to swallow a sudden and ridiculous urge to kiss him goodnight. Again.

"Goodnight, Alistair." He tilted his head, looked at her for a heartbeat, and then turned to look at the roses.

Nell bid a hasty retreat. Oh, Maker's tits and his balls too, what had she done?

Her head pounded along with her heart, she strode back through the trees, making a beeline for her tent. She figured that in her state, the others would know something was different, and she wasn't good enough a liar to completely cover up her physical symptoms. Her body positively _ached_. It could easily come off as agitation -- unspent physical tension was so very certainly present -- so perhaps they'd figure that she and Alistair had just gotten into one of their usual bantering matches that started a tiff.

It was the best solution until she could_ think_.

So decided, stiffening her walk a bit, Nell lifted her head just in time to prevent her from crashing into a leather-bound Antivan.

She pulled up hastily and Zevran lifted his arms, like liquid gold, taking the opportunity to wrap them around her with the pretense of preventing her fall.

Nell's body reacted, harshly. Especially since he knew _jus_t where to put his hands to seem innocent enough but not… quite. Since her nerves were so high, she couldn't help but take an indrawn breath that wasn't entirely due to surprise. "Oh…" she managed to let out, but that was about all. Her lungs refused to work properly.

"Oh… oh my dear, you should be more careful. There are dangerous things in the woods."

His voice was a purr in her ear and Nell jerked backwards like an unbroken horse. Anything to get him at arm's length -- the last thing she needed in her state was Zevran with an advantage.

The elf looked at her with immense curiosity and Nell inwardly cursed fluently enough to make any sailor proud. Despite all his flip remarks, Nell had noticed that Zevran had the exceptional ability to see to the heart of matters. He understood the baser nature of people and could look it directly in the eye, without guile or guise, and call it out.

His voice lowered in pitch and he curled up one corner of his mouth into a slow smirk.

"It seems perhaps you have already had experience with something dangerous tonight, no?"

_You said it._

"You just surprised me, Zevran." She took in his armored attire and tried to turn the conversation somewhere, anywhere else, crossing her arms over her chest. "Out on watch?"

He shifted his weight. His every move was sensual and Nell felt just a little bit dizzier. He could probably read her like a book, having seen women and men in all states of arousal, desire, and satiation._ Andraste's Sword, kill me now.__  
_  
"Ah, yes. It seems the others like me to take watch when they are still awake. Curious, no? Though, seeing you so…tense" he said the word almost teasingly… "I am wondering what is out there tonight to get our usually composed leader in such a state."

Nell gave him a look that would freeze darkspawn, but Zevran just grinned wider. "And seeing as you left with Alistair and he is not returning, perhaps he is so overwhelmed, I should tend to him immediately. Unless _you_ need my aid, of course?" He let his voice become like silk and she could not help but blush. He knew. Damn it all, he_ knew_. But at least he offered an easy out.

"I should like to see you tend to Alistair. If he'll let you." Her voice came out passably terse enough to be bantering and Zevran chuckled.

"Your loss, my dear. And unfortunately, mine too. Alistair, he always breaks my heart." Zevran put his hand over his chest and even _that_ was somehow sexual, and…Maker take it! Nell needed to get away from all men, ever.

"Yes. Well. Wake me for my watch." Nell put her nose in the air and started to walk away, though the elf, ever getting the last word, soared his reply towards her retreating back.

"An invitation to your tent? My heart sings, lady leader of mine."

Oh, Maker take all of them!


	5. Chapter 5

Author: aimorai  
Word Count: 1,142

A/N: Holy POV switch, Batman!

Zevran grinned to himself as he heard Nell crash off into the underbrush.

Ah, such a woman. It was a shame that he'd come as late as he did, after she'd already become entangled with the Grey Warden. She seemed a lively thing. If he'd known it would have been such a shame to kill her, he never would have bid to take her life.

Well...no. That wasn't true.

But he'd have at least planned on taking a little time with her first. A solo operation would have been best, yes. Hindsight.

He was able to follow her trail of broken branches easily enough to the clearing by the riverside. He'd been here before every night on his watch. There were roses and a log and the faint sound of the river rushing by.

And tonight, an extra treat, an unarmored Grey Warden looking for all the world like he'd seen the second coming of the prophet, all dewy eyes. For once, he didn't even look tensed up about anything. Fair Nell had probably absorbed all his tension directly through her lips. A chuckle escaped him at that thought. Zevran surmised that Nell was experienced enough to know what she was getting into, but he understood the particular pain of handling a virgin. Though... he couldn't fault her taste. Alistair was a fine specimen of a man, even if he was always wound a little too tight for Zevran's proclivities. He knew that Alistair did not trust him and did not forgive the fact that he'd attempted to assassinate the magus - but it had been nearly a week already. Everyone still lived, and he presumably saw the error of his ways, no?

"Mmm." Zevran allowed his voice to carry as he entered the clearing, causing Alistair to jerkily turn around. A flash of Alistair's positively sparkling eyes gave Zevran all the confirmation that he needed about his situational analysis. Yes, the woman had sucked it right out of him. _Oh, this should be fun._

"Antivan." Alistair narrowed his eyes as Zevran allowed himself to prowl into the clearing.

"Oh, Alistair. So course. Did you forget? My name is Zevran, I come from Antiva-"

"Fine. Zevran. Do you need something?"

"Oh, I need a lot of things. For instance, I did not realize how much I needed to see you out of your armor. Very nice." Zevran allowed himself a quick, sweeping gaze of Alistair's form again. He was rewarded with an open-mouthed, slightly sputtering reply to which he didn't really pay attention. _Too easy. It's almost not fun. ... Almost._

"Do not worry my friend. I am out on watch, and so I am watching. You just happen to be the only thing worth the time. I watched our fearless leader go to her tent, and now I am watching you. It has been a busy night for watching, really."

Alistair blinked, looking behind Zevran. "You saw Nell?"

"Yes. Saw, felt, heard. A woman full of delicious sensory experience, our mage."

The former Templar's face contorted. Zevran was reminded of a time that he had walked in on a fellow Crow and two of the hairiest dwarves in all Antiva doing something very lurid involving a broomstick. His own face must have looked something like that. He laughed, throatily, coming forward and smacking Alistair on the shoulder.

"Do not worry, my friend! She ran into me and told me in so many pretty words to leave her alone. But she seemed very tense and so I was concerned. Did anything... happen?" Zevran allowed himself a knowing smile. Perhaps encouragement of conversation would warm the ever-so-proper man.

"Happen? Er- Why? Did she... did she say something?" The man was an open book. Zevran marveled at the expression on his face. It was almost too sweet. He seemed so concerned over any possible reaction of his dulcet darling. It was too good. There were _so many_ ways to go with this.

"No. Should she have? She simply seemed very eager to be away."

"Oh." Alistair's face dropped a little, but he seemed to veil his disappointment far better than his eagerness. _Interesting_.

"Listen... my friend. I am... shall we say experienced enough to recognize other _experienced_ people. The way she moves..." - he let his voice drop to a conspirtatory level - "You have noticed her delectable sway, no?"

Alistair merely swallowed. He seemed like he was both compelled to listen and embarrassed to be doing so.

"Well, it tells me that she knows what she is doing. And you, by your rigid way of walking, do not."

"I don't walk... rigid." At that, Alistair frowned and seemed to overly relax his stance, trying to lean in a very manly fashion up against a tree, staring off ahead into the distance. The effect was... charming. Especially because he was almost leaning forward instead of sideways. Zevran's eyes took the opportunity and veered to Alistair's backside as he continued to speak.

"Yes. Well. Anyway, the point I am trying to make is that she knows what comes next. And she is thinking about it." He paused for effect and emphasis. "Right now."

"Right now?" Alistair seemed to have an epiphany. Unfortunately, it caused him to straighten, and Zevran sighed at the disappearance of his view.

"Yes. In her tent. Alone."

"Alone." Alistair repeated, swallowing thickly again. Slowly, his eyes were growing rounder. Zevran chuckled at the sight and pressed his case.

"She is thinking about everywhere that you did not touch her."

"Everywhere..." It was like he had become a parrot. Or a ventriloquist's dummy. He'd stiffened up enough for the latter Zevran grinned and leaned closer, letting his voice purr.

"You did know what comes next, didn't you? There is more. So much more. Did you touch any of those curves she flaunts so wickedly in those little mage robes of hers? It makes me want to go to Tevinter and thank them all personally. Her breasts. Long... divine legs. Her... hindquarters, as Wynne called them." His voice took on a teasing quality despite his best efforts.

Alistair's hands flexed, open and closed, at his sides. Again, and again. He suddenly seemed to become aware of Zevran standing there beside him and he rounded as if to smash the smaller elf with his shield. Which he did not have. It caused the knight to fly off-balance awkwardly and Zevran to merely lift a brow.

"I take it that is a no."

Alistair sputtered, red in the face, looking back and forth between Zevran and the pathway before reeling around and tromping off through the woods. It was so comical that Zevran leaned back his head and laughed, loud enough to wake the dead.

_So much fun_. It was good to be alive.


	6. Chapter 6

Author: aimorai  
Word Count: 2276

* * *

Nell had not, in fact, quite made it to her tent.

She'd tried, but after being held up by the all-too-perceptive elf in the woods, it seemed like the rest of the world was also conspiring against her getting any rest tonight.

She'd come back to the campsite to find Morrigan chasing her mabari around the campfire and Leliana snickering with Wynne in the corner, seeming for all the world like they were making bets on the outcome of the game.

"You beast!" Morrigan practically snarled. Now and again lightning crackled at her fingertips, and Nell found herself grateful for the witch's reserve. Morrigan was nothing if not self-controlled.

Phoenix made playful snarls and growls, his mouth around what appeared to be a pair of unmentionables. Morrigan's... unmentionables.

By the Maker, that hound was more trouble than he was worth. Cute trouble... But trouble all the same. _Like a certain ex- Templar._

"He just wants to play, Morrigan." Nell's voice sounded drawn and tired to her own ears, but it was apparently lively enough to draw an audible laugh from Leliana. Nell walked calmly around the fire towards her meddlesome pup, who immediately sat and dropped a mixture of drool and cloth down at Nell's feet. She gave an arch look to her hound before stopping and grasping the undergarment delicately between her forefinger and thumb, shaking it playfully towards Morrigan.

"Do you still... want these?" Nell's nose wrinkled. The dog's smell had permeated them.

"Disgusting." Morrigan's lip nearly curled and she waved her arms with her own particular dramatic flair. "Throw them on the fire, I've no use for them now. " She moved with her customary languid grace towards her fellow mage, eying Nell straightforwardly. Despite the group's reservations, Nell found herself having high respect for Morrigan, if not exactly trust. The woman was her own person, if nothing else, and her ability to speak her mind plainly was at times a great boon.

" 'Tis a perfect example of why we should not be picking up _strays_ we find along the way." Morrigan gave Nell a meaningful look. It was not the most subtle of comparisons and Nell merely gave Morrigan a tilt of her head and did as she'd been commanded, throwing the sodden cloth onto the fire. She was rewarded with a flare of light, illuminating Morrigan's comically twisted mouth perfectly.

"Goodnight, Morrigan." Nell smiled sweetly, and both Leliana and Wynne chuckled softly in the background. The witch made the most graceful exit she could towards her own fire, and Nell shook her head. Phoenix was watching her carefully, unsure of whether to be proud of himself or run away from his new master.

"You great oaf." Nell squatted down as the mabari rolled on his back, wriggling in the dirt like a great war-worm instead of a war-hound. "Stay out of Morrigan's things, or next time I might not be able to save you from a good roasting." She gave a quick, hard scratch of his stomach to emphasize the point.

Phoenix squirmed back onto all fours and barked happily, bolting off to do... whatever it is dogs do. She wasn't certain she wanted to know.

No rest for the weary.

Straightening, Nell waved Wynne and Leliana towards their tents. Wynne, tired from the journey, would not take watch tonight, and Leliana, being an early riser, usually took the morning watch with Alistair. The two other women nodded, and Nell had set herself to clearing the remains of dinner.

She'd barely begun when Alistair came crashing out of the brush, looking for all the world like he had an ogre at his heels. Nell startled and dropped the large cooking pot she'd just hefted up heavily on her right foot. Barely able to muffle a loud oath of pain, she hopped up and down on the other foot as pain lanced up her leg.

"Maker's tits - Alistair!" She hissed between teeth clenched against the pounding of her foot, hobbling over towards the edge of the fire to take a seat. It hurt, badly. She hoped she hadn't broken a toe or some other fool thing.

Alistair, for his part, stopped and watched her hurt himself, frozen in surprise for a dozen heartbeats or so. Once she sat, he blinked, and all of the myriad of emotions that had before been etched on his features were replaced by a mixture of anger and annoyance. He strode forward, purposeful concern and male agitation in every motion, and knelt by her foot. Nell, who had been gingerly trying to remove her boot, leaned back hastily. While the immediate signs of the tension leftover from their kiss by the river had started to abate, she was still heightened, and his quick proximity was enough to take away her breath. The pain in her foot was half a blessing; it allowed her to keep her wits. She spoke quietly, between clenched teeth.

"_Why_ would you come crashing out of there-!" An accusation more than a question.

His eyes had been focused on her foot, entirely, but her tone caused him to jerk his head up as his fingers argued with hers for control of her boot laces. She relented - his hands were bigger, and more forceful. Despite all of his strength, he managed not to hurt her at all as he started to tug the bindings loose.

"_Me? _Why would _you_ drop the pot on-"

"You _startled_ me-!"

"You didn't recognize me?"

"All I heard was damned branches, you sounded like the darkspawn horde itself-"

"You should _control_ yourself better-!"

"_You should talk!"_ Nell hissed out. This was the second instance tonight where she'd hardly controlled herself at all. Normally she was the model of composure. And both times - _entirely_ his fault.

In response to the accusation, he jerked on her boot a little too hard and she winced, biting her lip against a rush of pain. Apparently, it wasn't good enough, as he seemed to sense her distress and tensed a little. His hands became much more gentle, easing the boot off of as gently as Wynne might. She'd always had small, delicate feet. At the moment, however, 'delicate' wasn't the word to describe it. A stain of blood was spreading through the sock by her two smallest toes, the last of which was sticking out at an altogether jaunty angle.

Broken or dislocated toe and a smashed toenail was her best guess.

Alistair stilled and took in a deep breath. He was staring at her foot and thus she couldn't see his expression. She tried to lower her head to get a look and was surprised when he swept down, grabbed her, and lifted her entirely off the ground and started to march purposefully towards his tent around the other side of the fire, one arm around her back and the other at the bend of her knees.

Nell found herself crushed against his chest with simple linen between herself and his warmth and smell- a very male smell, with a hint of smokiness from the fire. The lower pit of her stomach jerked, both from his proximity and his easy way of picking her up as if she were a sack of grain. Nell was hardly petite- while she was thin, she was also quite tall.

"Alistair, it is a _toe_. I can _walk _just-"

"No."

His tone shut her up more than anything. He sounded absolutely sure of himself and she was certain he would brook no argument. Nell blinked up at his face, which was similarly set and determined and overall annoyed. With her? With himself? She couldn't tell. He went on.

"It seems Wynne is asleep. I keep bandages in my pack, you know that. It needs to be set and cleaned."

"Set? It's not like I broke an arm."

"Stop. Arguing. With. Me." He looked down at her then, and his eyes were so bright in the fading firelight that Nell couldn't help but obey the request. His muscles shifted around her and she found herself being lowered inside Alistair's tent and onto his already-open bedroll. Her stomach and heart both flopped a bit absurdly at the realization that she was, point of fact, in his bed. He, however, seemed to have nothing sexual on his mind at all. His attention was seized on her foot. Nell chided herself. _Stop thinking about his lips and his arms and his smell. Stop stop stop. It was -one- time._

Alistair's hand at her ankle jerked her out of her thoughts. The man must have fire in his veins, because there was no excuse at all for him to be so warm. The rest of her suddenly felt cold. He started to prod and massage a bit, his fingers sweeping about halfway up her calf. They were rough from years of swordplay, the calluses tickling her nerves pleasantly. It was such a nice sensation that she allowed it for several seconds before her logical mind kicked her, somewhere in the back of her brain.

"What- why are you doing that?"

He blushed. It was slight, but she could see it. He cleared his throat a little bit and his hands left her skin, sliding back down to the edge of her sock and starting to ease it down over her heel.

"Checking your ankle. Does anything hurt? Did you twist it?"

"Ah, no. The pot did not attack my leg. Just.. the toe." She winced slightly as the fabric of her stocking caught a little bit while he tugged, but it was a necessary evil, she knew. It had to come off.

".. I'm sorry." His eyes went back to pulling off the fabric, gentle as a lamb.

"Oh, I didn't mind." Maker, was that her voice? She'd practically purred at him. That was the whole talking-without-thinking thing again. It was becoming a very bad habit around him. _Stop stop stop stop!_

He'd heard her, and her tone, loud and clear. Alistair's hands slowed thoughtfully as he finally pulled the last of the sock off - not catching on her nail. He was careful. His hand tentatively moved back up her foot and Nell could feet heat sliding through her bones, following the motion. Finally, his eyes, liquid and golden in the firelight, looked up at hers.

It felt as if the world tilted, and then realigned. Like there was a string that anchored itself somewhere around her navel and pulled taut, leading directly towards him. The air was suddenly hot. Something that was simmering caught fire, right there, in the back of his eyes. Wordless passion, anticipation, confusion, desire, concern and care - it was all there.

His lids closed and he tried to veil it, but Nell had seen, and her entire body, heart, and soul reacted to him. It was dizzying. She wanted nothing more than to address each of those things she saw in his eyes if it took her all night. The compulsion to soothe him was powerful and completely frightening. She felt her breath shudder as she finally released it - apparently she had forgotten to breathe.

"I meant I was sorry about scaring you. " His voice had lowered in pitch. His hand was still sliding up and down her foot, almost absently. He glanced at it, and then knitted his brows a little, his other hand going towards his pack. She was still bleeding a bit. He pulled out some soft cloth and water and set about to try to clean her toe - the nail was cracked right in two, she could see.

"Oh... it's alright." Maker, she sounded positively breathy. "Thank you for taking care of it, though really, it can wait until morning-"

"No." He frowned, wiping at the blood so gently and purposefully that it warmed her even more than his touch did, for the moment. "It's my fault. Also I - want to talk to you." He grinned, one corner of his mouth sliding up. "And now I have you captive, so you can't run away so easily."

Nell arched a brow. "Something the Templars taught you about interrogating mages? Is it to be torture?" Her voice teased and he smiled wider. Maker, but that smile was dangerous.

"Torture, yes. We start at the toes and we work our way upwards. Templar secrets, you know. If I tell you all about it, I might have to kill you. " He let his voice slide into a sensual range that made Nell nearly wriggle right there on his bedroll, though she managed a chuckle.

Alistair smirked, then looked back down towards his work and placed down the cleaning cloth as if satisfied, sliding his hand underneath the toe. Prickles of pain shot upwards and Nell bit her lip, knowing what he was about to do. She'd wrecked toes before. He glanced up at her, his lips pressed together. "You... do know this is going to hurt, right?"

She nodded. "Just get it over with."

He did, without warning, snapping her little toe back into place. Nell hissed, flopping back on his bedroll and possibly squeaking out her pain at the last, though of course, the moment after it was done, she felt better. She let out her breath between her teeth as warm throbbing suffused her foot. After a second, she spoke.

"You are obviously a torture master."

He chuckled, sounding almost relieved.

"Yes, it was the only thing I was ever good at. Though I did mention the toe was only the start. Are you ready for round two?"


	7. Chapter 7

Author: aimorai  
Word Count: 3461

* * *

Nell scooted herself up onto her elbows, giving Alistair a pointed look as she did so. His devilish hand slid back to her ankle and repeated the massaging motion he'd done before - whether to convey intent or simply to distract from the ebbing pain, she wasn't sure. He succeeded in both.

"Interrogate away. I'm at your service." Nell tilted her head and Alistair swallowed. Her eyes searched his face. It seemed something was, in fact, on his mind. _Probably the same thing that's on mine._ For a moment, she felt like she should simply start talking and explain herself. Go over again all of the reasons why standing at this precipice was not a good thing. Of course, her body screamed that it was a perfect and wonderful thing, and that wanting to leave his bedroll was the most insane thought that ever crept into a woman's head, ever.

But his look stilled her. All there was in the world was his face and his hand and her body and the tent and whatever it was he wanted to say. Nell decided she could wait all night, just like this, and that would be alright.

His eyes raked up her body, from her captured foot, going slowly over the length of her frame, and to her face. He opened his mouth and then seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say, and then re-started, looking at her features all the while, his walnut eyes roving from her forehead to lips, eyes to nose.

"I met Zevran shortly after you left earlier."

Nell felt her mouth open to explain, but he raised his free hand to bid silence. "He said... well, he said a lot of things." It was too dark to see Alistair blush - all Nell could make out were the harsher lines of his features in the dimming light... the cut of his jaw, the line of his nose - but she could imagine it, starting at the tips of his ears.

"But what he _meant_ was that.... Well. With everything that's been happening, and with everything between you and me, he seemed to _know_, you know. And he said that - that _you_ knew what came next."

He stumbled a little, but his voice didn't crack, and he wasn't embarrassed overmuch. He was... _curious_ and perhaps a little bit unsure. Nell didn't respond, waiting to see if he would continue, and she was rewarded for her patience.

"And all I could think about as he went on was what you had said. About not wanting friends or -anything else. About how everyone was depending on you when the world was going to end. Darkspawn at the doorstep." He smiled - she could see the lighter flash of his teeth as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"I didn't before understand why you wouldn't want anyone to be close to you. As you know, if something if bothering me, I make sure everyone knows about it." His tone sounded a little rueful and Nell chuckled softly.

His hand, before so slowly massaging over her ankle, started to trace up the side of her calf. It was just the tips of his fingers, and Nell felt her skin shiver in response, with little pockets of heat trailing after his touch. Alistair seemed to notice it and broke eye contact to look at his hand, flattening his palm and gliding it back down in a caressing, more soothing motion, before tracing upwards again with that same agonizingly light and teasing touch. She shivered more and he smirked.

"But then I think I suddenly understood. You weren't worrying about you. Fearless Leader, you want to handle everything yourself. You don't want _us_ to worry about _you_. You don't want _me... _to worry about you." His eyes trailed back up to her face and Nell caught her breath as his hand started to slowly wrap around her knee. It was exposed since her mage robes were shorter in the style of the Tevinter Imperium. Nell tried desperately to keep on the thread of his words. His voice lowered to a sweet, soft pitch that was beguiling and slightly less sultry.

"And I realized... you have never been concerned with _you_ at all. All of it, all your protests, were because _you_ were worrying about _me_. My reaction. My... inexperience. You didn't care at all about what you had to go through. You wanted to protect me."

Nell swallowed. He'd hit the nail on the head, and she reminded herself in her heart of hearts never to underestimate his power of perception again. Every time he pretended not to know what was going on...that was an act. Secretly, she was also relieved that he didn't joke about it at all - that it didn't seem a silly notion to him, this mage in all her flimsy robes protecting such a warrior as he.

"So I wanted to tell you. Don't. Stop, right this instant. Don't worry about me and _by the_ _Maker_, let me take care of you. Let us _all_ protect you and take care of you as much as you want to take care of us. Because we are in this together."

His hand squeezed around her knee softly, his thumb tracing over the bend in her leg with all the soft gentility of the sentiment. Alistair leaned closer and pressed the barest of kisses to her parted lips - feather light, come and gone with the breeze.

"You're not alone. I won't let you be."

His voice had dropped near to a whisper and Nell felt her heart explode, right there, in the middle of the night, camped in his tent. Her breath was shallow and fast, and for the first time in a very, very long time, she felt emotions welling up and overtaking her head. _Damn him._

Some part of her kicked her to respond. Hard. She wetted her lips and tried to find words. Drawing in heavily, she breathed out "Alistair-"

He cut off whatever surely witty thing she was going to say with another kiss, this time with more gentle, lingering pressure and a heavier squeeze around her knee. He smiled against her mouth when he was done, his tone teasing, his warm breath flirting over her mouth.

"I wasn't done. Did you forget about the torture? I didn't even get to demand anything yet."

Nell sucked in a breath and he chuckled, wickedly. That thing happened again, where she felt like he gripped and tugged a line at the very base of her belly. Heat coalesced right at that spot, with the barest tingle between her legs as an echo. She moved her head forward to try and kiss him, but he backed off at the last moment and she humphed, trying to act cocksure when she was anything but.

"Then what exactly _are_ your demands, oh capturer of my leg?" He smirked and his devilish fingers slid sensuously around her knee joint. She has not previously been aware that there were so many nerves on her leg, and they all betrayed her, leaping to his command. _Traitors._

"I want you to show me." Somehow his lips had ended up by her ear. As he spoke, his breath caressed he sensitive skin just beneath her lobe and her breath hitched.

"Show you-?" Her words were thready at best. _Keep your wits. If you can._

"Before, when we were..." he trailed off, and Nell licked her lips. "You stopped. I know there was more, and I want you to show me."

She shook her head, just barely.

"You're not ready for everything."

He seemed to pause, considering. His hand left her knee briefly and her nerves mourned the loss, but it soon reappeared at her hip, pressing her downwards lightly against the bedroll. She took the hint and laid back easily, though wondering what he was about. He half-leaned over her, the muted motion of his thumb moving backwards and forwards against her hip bone pervading her senses.

"Perhaps not. But I am ready for more."

"More?" She sounded dumb to herself, but she had to ask.

He chuckled.

"The next step. I assume there _is_ a next step, if it is a game we are playing, like before." He grinned. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark, and she could see the outline of his form more clearly above her, and the spark in those eyes.

Nell smirked, but she raised herself a bit towards him, eyes locking onto his.

"You know that what is between you and I... it's not a game, Alistair. It.. never was."

_Never will be_ her stomach echoed, but she couldn't quite say that out loud.

He smiled. Warmly enough to make her heart erupt. Again. The hand at her hip moved upwards through the air to cup her jaw, and he leaned forward. "I know." He whispered, before sealing his mouth over hers. This was not a teasing kiss, and Nell lay back, having no bracing to prevent her muscles from weakening under his demand. Her lips slid open and immediately his tongue passed through in a slow, exploring sweep of her mouth, and she sighed against him. He ate up the sound and tightened his fingers, tilting her head back further and anchoring many of her senses to the play. He was still untutored, but his instincts were marvelous. He was a conqueror of mouths.

Through the touch of his hand, she could sense his tension - anticipation, nervousness, tentativeness, exaltation - all were there. Alistair moved above her to make himself more comfortable, stretching out his length along her side and leaning over her. It made her very aware of his chest and her palms itched. She obliged them, sliding her hands in between their bodies to splay across the musculature there. He was far more toned than any man she'd been with, and she thought the feel of tight skin stretched over the mass of him was delicious. She pressed in with her fingertips and he made a curious rumbling noise that she felt more than heard. His head angled and his tongue positively delved into her mouth, like a hot, claiming brand. She returned the favor, for the moment wresting control and sliding her tongue around his, behind his teeth, over the roof of his mouth before returning to fence with his tongue as she pressed in her palms over the flat disks of his nipples and slid her hands up and down, slowly, learning him, even through the feel of his tunic.

The hand at her jaw slid up to the back of her head, where she kept the weight of her hair usually tied in a functional bun. He yanked and tugged at it a bit, making a frustrated noise into her mouth and Nell smirked, nipping at his lower lip, pulling on it slightly. He reacted immediately, with a little surprise and with a lot of renewed interest in returning the favor. One of her hands left his chest and she undid her hair for him before he ripped a chunk of it out, and he chuckled against her mouth, kissing the corner delicately in thanks as his hand seized its prize. She smiled as he gently pulled at her hair and ran its texture between his fingers. His lips found her ear again, and this time his whisper was more strained.

"You should always wear this down."

He experimented then, kissing the hollow underneath her ear and Nell's entire body leapt - it was an especially sensitive spot and Alistair, feeling her reaction, wasted no time in capitalizing on this new-found knowledge. He tried kissing again and she shuddered, her hands gripping at his shoulders. He ran the tips of his lips from that point towards her earlobe and Nell bit her lip to hold a whimper - though didn't quite manage. Finally, he let his tongue trace that same path and Nell decided she had had _quite_ enough, letting him hear her gasp as a reward before seizing his hair indelicately and locking her lips back on his with demand.

His return gasp of surprise she ate greedily from his lips, running her free hand down his chest and stomach and sliding underneath his tunic. She paused there, letting it linger along the top hem of his pants, her fingertips playing havoc with light, sweeping touches.

His muscles locked, released, and then locked tighter as he lifted his head from her lips to heave in air. She continued the tease, but let her mouth trace from his lips down the line of his jaw as a bit of a distraction. She felt his hand clench more tightly in her hair. The other, still resting at her hip, started to move upwards over her stomach and it was Nell's turn to freeze, sensing the path he was going to take. Her breasts suddenly felt swollen and tight to bursting against her robes. The fabric chafed, she could feel her heart pound beneath them. His thumb slowly, tentatively, reached up and slid along the underside of her breast through her robe. Her body hitched and pressed upwards, but then he stopped. For a fraught moment, neither of them moved. He nudged her head with his cheek and she looked upwards, into his face and his eyes.

They were questioning.

Nell swallowed. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe, how exactly was she supposed to _move_? She tried to focus on taking in a deep breath, and then she slid one of her hands towards the topmost button of the three that were closing the front of the robe she had on. She flicked it open, revealing the upper swells of her breasts, and then looked back towards Alistair's face. His eyes were riveted on the flesh she'd exposed and she watched his throat work. She kept her eyes on him and she flicked open the next button, feeling cool air on the now-gaping neckline. She wasn't fully undressed, she knew, but very close. One more button would do it. She moved her hand towards it only to feel his strong grip over her fingers squeeze, stopping her. She obliged him and moved her hand out of the way.

His eyes, darkened with desire, moved back to her face for just a moment, sweeping over her expression. She had no idea what he saw but in the dim firelight, she would always remember how _he _looked right at that moment. Determined, his features hardened, his lips slightly parted, hair a little mussed where she'd grabbed it. He looked breathtaking.

In the next moment he did indeed steal her breath as his eyes shifted to her body and his hand moved upwards to slide between her breasts, his fingertips tracing the curves with a wondering that made her begin to ache between her thighs. Alistair's features looked locked and intensely focused, and Nell's eyes drifted shut. His touch was light, it made her nerves prick. Suddenly, she felt his hand slide beneath the open fabric of her robe and cup the fullness of her left breast, with the gentlest of squeezes, and she heard herself moan breathily. She felt like her breast swelled up even further in his hand with just that one grasp. His body pressed closer, and Nell could feel the evidence of his arousal on her hip. Her body reacted to the feeling and she slid her thigh against it, instinctively. Alistair made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a hiss and his hand tightened around her breast. Nell made nearly the same exact sound in return. His touch was hardening slowly, but was learning her, still almost worshipful. Her nipple peaked under his hand and he rolled it, tentatively between his thumb and forefinger. She whimpered and her hips lifted involuntarily, again brushing between his legs. He pinched, and her throat warbled as she arched her back towards his hand.

Alistair leaned over her more fully and kissed her, a long, drinking kiss that stole her breath and nearly her sanity. He continued to softly squeeze and knead her breast within his hand, and her thigh rode up between his legs, sliding against his arousal more firmly. She couldn't help it. He groaned into her mouth and his hips moved downward against her.

Suddenly, neither of them could breathe. He lifted his lips from hers first. Nell opened her eyes slowly to regard his features.

He was a little more tense now, that was what she noticed first. Heartily more aware of what exactly all of this 'next step' business entailed. Passionate, that too. His eyes were black pools. His breath was ragged and she could feel that he was struggling not to flex his hips again if just to relieve his desire against her thigh. She kissed his lower lip again, softly, and he returned the pressure and then lifted his head again.

Nell sensed this was a line he wasn't yet sure if he could cross.

He wouldn't know how to articulate that.

She let out a breath and ran her hand up and through Alistair's hair, making sure to be gentle. His hand was still on her breast and she positively _ached _beneath him and they were pressed together tightly in his cramped tent and _Maker_, how was she supposed to walk away?

Well...it would begin with a motion. She attempted to ease herself out from under him but only managed to move her thigh in a long caress against him. He shuddered and pressed his hips into her again, entirely a reflex. She lifted her head and planted what she hoped was a soothing kiss to the corner of his mouth. His hand idled over her breast, his thumb tracing lazy circles, and she moaned into his lips, her breath shaking as she finally found words.

"If you keep doing that, I'll never be able to get up. And then I'm not responsible for what I do to you."

His chuckle was harsh and strained.

"I'm supposed to be doing the torture." He squeezed again and she felt her whole body quake.

"You succeeded. Believe me." She kissed him again and he finally relinquished her breast. She shivered, though this time from chill - the lack of the heat of his hand made her realize how cold the night had become. Together, they moved. He eased up and away and she eased forwards until she was more or less sitting straight up. It could have been awkward, but it wasn't. It was a simple, silent accord between them that it was over - at least for tonight. Nell's body still thrummed with want for him and his own desire was outlined obviously in the firelight.

He slowly closed the front of her robe and Nell leaned her head against his shoulder as he did, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. He was quiet...thoughtful. She was quiet too, but only due to sheer and sudden exhaustion. When he was like this, it was hard to know what he was thinking. Perhaps he was berating himself for stopping? She licked her lips, not wanting him to think she was unsatisfied when the opposite couldn't be more true.

"Alistair?" she whispered. His fingers were tracing delightfully over her collarbone.

"Hmm?"

"You are such a supreme torturer that I think I've succumbed to your methods."

His chuckle was a rumble under her ear. Nell decided she liked hearing it that way - the most obvious way for that to occur would be to not be more than five feet from him ever again.

"Is that so? I did warn you."

"Yes. I admit I didn't believe you, but now I am awed by your skill. I am your thrall, entirely." She felt her eyes closing, and her head nodding, her words murmurs more than declarations.

"Good. Although it seems that you are no good to me for the rest of the evening. Spent you, have I? I'll need you fresh if I'm going to continue sessions."

"Mm-hmm." Her whole head and body felt heavy.

She was barely aware that she was no longer in her own tent. She felt Alistair easing her downwards, and the bedroll was amazingly welcome. He gently picked up her bandaged foot and eased it forwards before covering her with a blanket. She squirmed into a comfortable position and sighed. She felt his warmth behind her as he laid along her and dropped a kiss on her temple.

The last thing she remembered was smiling before falling asleep. There were no nightmares that night.


	8. Chapter 8

Author: aimorai  
Word Count: 1,821

______________________________________________________________________________

Morning sun shafted through the openings in the tent between the ties, causing rectangles of light to flirt over Nell's eyes, awakening her.

She wrinkled her nose and buried her head underneath the thin blanket. Five more minutes. Nell always preferred to wake slowly if she could. It was still early, the light wasn't full yellow yet-

Light.

Wait, there was light? But she was supposed to-

Nell sat bolt upright in the bedroll, looking around, shaking her head a little bit to loosen the cobwebs. Memories of the previous night came rolling back to her like a warm, bathing tide.

Her eyes darted around the interior - she was still in Alistair's tent. Curiosity forced her to examine details she hadn't cared about at all the night before. He kept it rather sparse inside. There was a scabbard - his sword wasn't inside. There was his satchel, a couple of other carrying cases. Two candles. A helmet, though other armor was gone. Some part of her wanted to go through his bags, but she resisted the impulse. She supposed it didn't look much different from her own tent, although she always seemed to have something random she'd found inside. A woman's impulse for decoration, in any circumstance.

She shook her head a little bit, smiling at herself. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders. It was long and softly curled, a reddish-brown color. Seeing it down made her remember more details about the previous evening - she felt a sharp stab of disappointment at waking alone that she didn't really want to explore at the moment. _I need to think._

Nell moved to ease her legs out from underneath the blankets, mindful of her toe, and crawled over towards the tent flaps, untying them. She figured she should get out before it was full light. As it was, she obviously hadn't taken her watch. That would mean that Sten or Zevran had found her not in her tent and hadn't looked for her, or roused her, for whatever reason. Therefore... everyone by now would likely be aware that _something_ had occurred last night.

She sighed to herself as she undid the final tie. Maybe she could sneak back and salvage some dignity. Well... not dignity. She wasn't ashamed of what had happened. She just.. wasn't ready for all of the comments. Not yet. She still needed to sort things out for herself, and that was hard enough to do without constant opinions.

Her thought train was interrupted by a mass of flesh coming across her vision and bending over to enter the tent. Nell blinked and quickly scooted backwards, preventing Alistair from knocking his head flat against hers as he stooped to enter the tent by half a second at best.

"Alist-"

"Oh, you're awake! I was trying to be quiet. I just needed to get my sh-"

"Oh..." Nell's voice trailed off as she registered Alistair's current state. He was shirtless. And wet.

Well, not really wet but... glistening, like he had taken a dip and not completely dried himself. He moved into the enclosed space and she found him above and around her before she had a moment to think. The effect caused a rush of sensation over her entire body like he'd caressed her, but they hadn't actually touched at all.

She found herself positively staring at his chest. She'd felt it well enough last night but _seeing_ was another thing entirely. He was _not_ at _all_ built like a mage. Her throat went dry. Scars, both light and deep, crisscrossed like thin white veins - especially around the weak points in his armor- not really marring the flesh but simply adding texture. She had no idea how a man's chest could be mesmerizing but it _was_.

"Ah... Nell?"

"Hmm?" She responding, lifting a brow but not her eyes.

"Is there a darkspawn suckling on me or... something else that I should be aware of?"

She blinked and felt herself blush, lifting her eyes to his face. He had that supremely _male_ look again that both irritated and pleased her at the same time.

"No! I'm just... I never noticed... all your scars. If your head gets knocked about half as much as the rest of you, no wonder you never make any sense." She grinned cheekily up at him and he smirked, reaching for his shirt, which was apparently balled up behind her. The motion was a symphony of muscles moving beneath his arm and across his chest. On impulse, Nell reached up an arm and stayed him as he was about to throw on his tunic and let her eyes feast some more, shamelessly. He grinned wickedly as he noticed where her eyes went.

"If I'd known all it would take to get you so worked up was to walk around topless, I'd have done it weeks ago! I never knew it would be so easy."

Nell snorted. "You are half-naked and wet and practically on top of me. Imagine if our roles were reversed, hmm?" She laid back on her elbows and tried her best to look coy.

Alistair paused and dropped his shirt from his hand, looking down at Nell appraisingly. He didn't look embarrassed at all, merely considering, which surprised her enough that she felt her brows lift. She watched his eyes darken and his mobile lips moved slowly into a grin that somewhat reminded her of a cat about to pounce a mouse.

"That... can be arranged." His voice was entirely teasing.

She clucked her tongue in response, shaking her head. "I think you lied to me. I won't believe this innocent Chantry business anymore. Two days ago a comment like that would have sent you blustering for ten minutes."

"True, I surprise myself a bit I must admit. Maybe this is a sign of corruption?"

"Ah yes, blame the darkspawn! The rest of the country is falling to the taint, why not your moral teachings and fiber as well?"

He grinned wryly, leaning over her, moving his arms to support his weight on either side of her shoulders and moving his head to the side of hers, his breath feathering over her ear.

"I assure you, madam, that I retain the highest moral caliber. It's obviously _you_. You're a corrupting influence. Very powerful. With your... mageness. No one could blame me for falling under your spell."

Nell bit her lip at the feel of his warm breath, forgiving the corny line with a chuckle bubbling deep in her throat, arching her back in such a way as to slowly press and roll her hips and breasts against him in a slow, deliberate tease. Alistair bit off a small, surprised sound and managed something that sounded a bit like a grunt, leaning his weight a little to one side and running his hand up her ribcage to grip her breast through her robe, more possessively and with more assuredness than he did the previous night, wresting back the element of surprise. He _did_ learn quickly, didn't he?

Nell sighed and purred in his ear, placing her hand over his with a hard squeeze, which he mimicked. She bit her lip tightly against a gentle moan that threatened from her throat as she spoke.

"Alistair, it's _morning_-"

"Barely. Leliana is doing washing at the river. Wynne is snoring. Morrigan is doing some kind of ritual at her tent, I didn't want to get too close." He dropped a few well-placed kisses behind her ear, his voice in a gravelly range as he continued, his fingers working over one breast and then the other, sliding and caressing and breaking down her protestation. Nell felt herself breathe just a little bit faster.

"Sten is polishing armor and having some kind of growling contest with your dog. Zevran is -"

"...Ah, right behind you." A purring, curling, laughing accent broke through the haze of the little tent haven.

At the sound of the Antivan's voice Alistair shot upwards with enough force to knock himself into the top of the tent, causing the whole structure to dangerously sway. A roll of oaths flowed forth from his mouth.

Zevran's voice sounded absolutely unperturbed by the whole thing.

"Ah, shame, it was _such_ a lovely view for the first thing in the morning. And I am relieved, my friend, that you seem to have found our missing leader. I was most distressed to find her bedroll empty last night."

Oh, _Maker. _The tent stopped moving and actually managed to stay upright. Alistair rolled around to sit next to Nell, who was silently thanking Andraste that she was still clothed. Zevran's handsome head, blonde and tanned and exceptionally amused, appeared beyond the open tent flap.

He continued. "Obviously you were checking her most thoroughly for signs of life and vitality, no? Ah, but she is flushed and healthy. Perhaps you should have been a healer instead of a Templar." He nodded towards Alistair, and then Nell, his eyes glittering, and she inwardly groaned. Oh, she'd never hear the end of it.

"Zevran. Get. Out." Alistair's voice was clipped and forced, just on the edge between annoyance, embarrassment, and rage. His muscles were bunching with the effort, Nell supposed, of _not_ leaping up and ripping off the assassin's head.

"Ah, of course, do not let me disturb you while you work. He _is_ healing you, no?" He lifted a brow towards Nell, who tilted her chin upwards and thrust her tended-to toe out of the blanket for Zevran's inspection. It was mottled red and blue and most assuredly broken in the harsh light of day.

The elf blinked at her foot and then started laughing deep from his chest.

"Ah yes! A mortal wound to the toe! How could I be so blind?" Zevran swept both of them an elegant bow and resumed his amusement, laughing all the way down towards the river.

Nell and Alistair both sat there for a moment, looking out at the empty space where the Antivan had once stood, and then slowly turned to look at one another. Nell knew she was blushing, but Alistair's face was positively _red_, from the tips of his ears through his throat. He was breathing a little heavily. Nell smiled, shook her head, and threw her hands in the air.

"They were going to find out, sooner or later."

Alistair groaned, bringing up both hands to run through his brown-blonde hair.

"Yes, but... _anyone_ but _him_!" He was so distraught that it was almost sweet. And funny.

Nell couldn't help it. It started from her gut, and soon her shoulders were shaking with the effort of containing it. Laughter bubbled forth from her mouth, loud and clear as a bell, ringing throughout the campsite and into the forest beyond.

If nothing else, things were going to be even _more_ interesting from here on out.


	9. Chapter 9

Author: aimorai  
Word Count: 2,930

A/N: Skipping a bit forward in time here

* * *

Another day of hiking at a fairly clipped pace through the Brecelian Forest had yielded no sign of the Dalish. Nell tried to remind herself that _you don't find the Dalish, the Dalish find you_, but it was hardly a comforting thought. Nothing much at all had been a comforting thought since they had left the bounds of Redcliffe.

Nell looked around. The group was spread and staggered, and she found herself smack in the rear of the pack with Wynne. She had been telling herself for days now that the elder mage's slow pace was simply due to her age. Nothing at all to do with her collapsing episode shortly upon entering the forest and the subsequent panic of half of the group. _Nothing at all to do with the fact that she's -dead-._ It had been a hard conversation to have with the woman, who had let forth the details as though they were having a conversation about the weather. _Oh, by the way, I'm dead. Thought you should know._

It had rocked Nell to her very foundation. As an apprentice, she'd firmly held to the belief that any sort of spiritual possession of a mage's body, whether the spirit was benevolent or no, was... well, was an abomination. If they obeyed the strict laws of the Chantry, Wynne should be killed. Whether or not she was already dead was really a moot point. While Nell's faith in the Maker was shaky at best, she did certainly believe that the Chantry held supreme authority over the workings of the magi in the circle. The power of faith was literal -- the religious body held sway over many aspects of politics, and in Nell's case, had held a firm grip over the entire course of her life until recently. That ultimate authority was there in the suspicious glance of every Templar, in the nasty barbs sent back and forth between priests and senior enchanters, in the very holding of magi themselves in an Ivory Tower.

Her personal feelings about her life she'd held deep inside -- her belief that the Tower wasn't entirely necessary, and that they didn't needn't be watched quite so closely. The very act of separating mages from the public meant that they would never be understood but instead feared; that they would never be seen as _who_ they were, but _what _they were. It was the lot of many in life she supposed; blood, titles, natural abilities were no more escapable than death itself. But the system... the system could change. Regardless of all this, she'd been in agreement with the Chantry about two major points- that blood magic was in fact evil, and that abominations were the result of spiritual possession and should not be allowed to live.

Now, she was traveling with a living, breathing, _benevolent_ abomination who darned socks, snored, and teased. Nell found it impossible to hate anything inside of Wynne that allowed the woman to live. Though she'd been with them for a relatively short amount of time, it was hard not to respect her. Wynne had a serenity about her, as well as firm convictions. The two were usually at odds. Nell found that serene people were often boring, and those that held strong convictions could never be at peace. And yet here she was -- a walking conundrum. There was much to learn from Wynne. Nell found herself keeping her quiet company more and more in these last few days. Despite her admittedly difficult condition, she was the least tense of the group, besides Zevran, who was never tense. Nell's lips twisted wryly -- the first test of her conviction as a leader, and she was hiding from all the questioning glances.

Her plan had seemed sound at the time, in her own mind, anyway. Of course they had to rescue the Arl, he was poisoned and the clock was ticking, but in Nell's mind, the same was true of the entirety of Ferelden as well. They had to warn everybody. Since they were to go to Denerim, why _not_ cut through the forest and try to recruit the Dalish on their way? The Brecelian forest was far further south than either Orzammar or Denerim, it would be hit by the Blight long before the humans and the dwarves and alienages. Even if they could not hammer out an agreement based on the treaty, they could at least warn the Dalish to move their camps further to the north and make arrangements to meet later. The possible saving of an entire people had taken precedence over the health of the Arl without even a battle in Nell's mind.

However, almost everyone else seemed to think it was a risky idea, at best. Sten had argued that the time cutting through the forest could be better served on the roads, with scouts to see if they could find any Dalish on the way. Leliana had bemoaned their lack of supplies for an overland route - sometimes she could be very silly. The forest was verdant and supplies were all around. At least that argument had been nulled quickly, although she still saw the bard pouting from time to time. Morrigan felt that the Dalish were likely similar to the Wilder folk and could sense the threat and move without any outside warning, and therefore should be the _least_ affected by the Blight. And Alistair... Alistair had protested most of all by simply remaining quiet. Normally they were of one mind and he vocally backed up her reasoning. Now... they'd barely spoken in five days. It was frustrating, and abrupt, after all they'd been through so quickly. His concern for the Arl was meritorious, of course... all well and good. But... when he was stuck on something that he deemed personal, it was very difficult to sway his mind. She could see it eating at him, the fact that they were not taking the road to Denerim.

Nell gritted her teeth and tried to push the thought away, along with the ache in her bones from their forced-march pace. It would do no good to think about the fact that the lack of his open support made her feel twice as weary. How, despite his pledge to the contrary, his silent protestation all by itself caused her to feel alone. She could have dealt with any of the other gripes easily, brushing them away like cobwebs, but without him having her back... she felt vulnerable all the time. And she hated it. Despite her best effort to stem the urge, her eyes attempted to search him out between the trees. He was very far ahead - he and Sten always seemed to take point. She couldn't see his silhouette and the small hole in her middle that had developed within the past week twisted. It really wasn't fair. He'd put her in charge. He knew how to follow orders. He understood sacrifice, and he had reams of patience and mental discipline when he wanted to. Why the personal dissent?

Wynne's soft, willowy voice broke through her tangled thoughts.

"You're very fond of each other, aren't you?"

Nell blinked, turning her head to her right as they broke into a rather large glade within the forest. Wynne was making her way around a fallen tree and Nell stilled her steps, waiting for the elder woman to come closer so she could keep her voice low.

"What?"

Wynne's smile was full of quiet understanding, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"You and Alistair." Nell felt her lips thin. Was the woman psychic now?

"He doesn't seem to be very fond of me lately." She restarted her steps once Wynne caught up, but moved slowly and kept her voice hushed. By silent accord, it had seemed that the rest of the group was waiting within the enclosure. Perhaps they'd even stop for a late lunch.

Wynne chuckled. "I can tell when you are thinking about him. And he you. I wouldn't worry too much about his fondness - he is always making dewy eyes at your back when you're not looking. It's almost a little too sweet, even for an old woman like me."

Nell shook her head. "He can hardly be looking at my back when he's always trudging off ahead." She motioned with her chin - a spot of glimmering armor in the distance indicated Alistair walking along the opposite perimeter of the glade.

Wynne waved a hand, expressively. The woman always seemed inordinately at peace. It was annoying at the moment, but Nell reminded herself that Wynne had never before spoken without purpose, and she rolled her shoulders a little and forced herself to listen.

"Alistair is uneducated in affairs of the heart. He doesn't know what to do. He might be angry, but he also does not wish to upset you. He reacts by saying nothing."

Nell had figured that part out by herself, and so she merely tilted her head and nodded.

"I suppose you're right. But what does this have to do with anything, if you don't mind my bluntness?"

"Not at all. I was just noting your distraction, and I am merely suggesting that you be careful. It is a delicate thing. He is the son of a king. You are a mage. You are both Grey Wardens, yes, but you were these other things before either of you made that choice. Neither of you may change who you are and in the end, death or duty may simply drive you apart."

Nell clenched her jaw so tightly that she could feel the muscles work. The woman chose _now_, of all possible moments, to voice the problems that Nell had been trying not to even consider in the face of the immediate annoyance. Her head started to pulse. All of her earlier doubts seemed to loom and cackle throughout her brain. _Told you so._

Wynne continued, seemingly oblivious to Nell's displeasure. "Perhaps your current disagreement can serve as a warning. Strong emotions can be a detriment to duty. Love by its very nature is selfish." Wynne's voice seemed sad - a whisper - but also convicted. "When faced with the choice between love and duty, which will you choose?"

Nell felt herself still inwardly, even though her legs somehow continued to walk, and they were within a stone's throw of the rest of the group. The small hole buried beneath her breastbone yawned open within her, threatening to swallow her whole. __

Love by its very nature is selfish. 

Nell stared over at Wynne and managed a nod, before veering off. She suddenly felt dizzy. All her thoughts were whirling around inside of her head. It was both the worst and the best time for Wynne to bring up the larger problem that swallowed up all of the small bumps in the road. As if from the end of a long tunnel, she heard Leliana insisting that they stop to eat properly and packs rattling around. Zevran was pestering Morrigan about something, and her dog was barking loudly at the scene. The sudden urge to flee was as unstoppable as a runaway horse. Nell raked the fingers of both hands back through her hair and turned abruptly. She needed to be away from the noise; away from Wynne and her wisdom and her experience and her quiet eyes, which she could feel boring into her back. Away from the questions with no answers and all of her righteous duties that had been hammered into her since birth. The voices of a thousand people - Templars, priests, mages, enchanters- mocked her with each step. __

You have a duty.  
We must protect the world from you. _  
This is right. This is fair.  
This is for your own good._

She had been told that giving up herself to the rules of her circumstances was the best way for everyone to get by. She had to be protected from the world, and the world had to be protected from her. It was selfish to want otherwise. To aspire to any other circumstances meant that you became an apostate. Reviled. Hunted. To be a model of control, discipline, and acceptance was the only thing a respectable mage could do. It was your duty.

_Follow the rules._  
_You are here because you are special.  
You are here because you are dangerous to everyone around you.  
You can hurt them if you lose control.  
Never lose control.  
_  
She didn't know how many paces away she walked. Two dozen? Two hundred? Two thousand? But finally her legs decided to fall into the hole with the rest of her and she crumpled down to sit ungracefully in the high, swaying grass of the meadow. The wind seemed to blow more thoughts through her mind in a torrent.

No matter what she did, she was still dangerous. As a mage or a Grey Warden. A leader or a follower.

One wrong move, and thousand people could be hurt, or die, or worse. _Or a few special people could be._

Or one.

Nell didn't even notice when he came up behind her. She wasn't there, really. If you'd have asked her, she would have said she didn't want to come back. _Let me stay here. Let someone else do it. It's too hard. I don't -want- this._

Two strong, gauntleted hands fell on her shoulders. He didn't try to move or rouse her. They were just there, holding her to the world, making her aware of herself again. Of her slumped shoulders, her dead arms. Of cold, wet lines tracing their way down her cheeks and lips and jaw. Of her body shaking with silent, wracking sobs.

"...Nell?"

She slowly turned her head and looked over her shoulder at him - his face, dried sweat around his hairline and a two days' stubble shadowing his jaw. He looked tired. His eyes, ever bright, were roving her features as she was examining his. She became aware of her irregular breathing as she wrestled to subdue the last of her sobs just as she knew that all she wanted to do was bury her head against his heart and give it all to him - everything she carried. All of the duty and doubt, insecurity and vulnerability, everything. How could it be wrong to share that? How could it be _selfish_? It would be selfish to curl up with it and pretend that it was a noble thing, to carry a burden that will grind you to the ground. Surely, _that_ was selfish.

She furrowed her brow as she looked at him, finding her voice somewhere, meek and small.

"I'm just... trying to do the right thing."

"What? I mean... I know."

"Do you? Because I don't."

On his haunches, he drew himself closer as best he could, sliding his hands down her arms and rubbing. It was awkward with his armor and she closed her eyes, squeezing out more traitorous drops of moisture from her vision.

"Don't what?" His voice was quiet.

"I don't... know. Anything." She didn't move, she merely kept her eyes on him "I don't know if this is right. You and me. Coming here. No matter what I do... something is going to be wrong. I don't... want to hurt anybody." _You are dangerous. You could hurt somebody simply by being alive._

"You haven't hurt me."

"Haven't I? You've left me alone for....days." Her voice warbled and she took a moment to struggle, stilling and concentrating on swallowing the emotion rising high in her throat. All she could manage was a whisper in order to still her tone. "You told me you wouldn't..."

Alistair stilled, and then sighed, a rush of breath that seemed to leave him empty and deflated. His lids drifted closed, hooding his eyes, and he leaned forward, his forehead coming to touch on her own. His hands gripped and squeezed on her upper arms, once.

"All I have wanted to do, day and night, was come to you. But I... felt so stupid for getting angry so I thought I'd wait for you to come and yell at me or hit me or tell me what an ass I am. But instead I just..." He squeezed again and shook her head, his crisp hair sliding against her forehead.

"...This is what I was afraid of, Alistair." _Selfish._ "I've been...I just want to do the right thing but at the same time I feel like I would do anything just to make you..." _Happy. Making him happy is selfish._ "I mean.... I don't know what I'm doing. And I'm scared that I'll do the wrong thing because I'm worrying..."

He lifted his eyes then towards hers.

"You have not done one wrong thing by me. Everything you do is... right. If I've made you doubt yourself then...stop it."

Tears swam in her vision and she shook her head, violently. He looked up confused, and so openly caring that it tore her heart in two. He leaned forward and she felt his lips on the tracks of the tears running down her face. Her arms lifted around his neck before she could stop herself and she was kissing him, there in the middle of the grass, in the woods, off the path that everyone had told her to take. _Love by its very nature is selfish._

Selfish, dangerous.

She should stop this, right now.

But she _couldn't._

Selfish.


	10. Chapter 10

Author: aimorai  
Word Count: 1550

* * *

"Well, it's not every day you meet a _rhyming_ tree, is it? It's almost worth the trip into the middle of the forest to fight _more_ things that want to kill us and other people. Is it just me, or has everything seemed to go wrong all at once? You'd almost forget there's a Blight, what with werewolves, and walking dead, and...talking trees..."

Nell smirked at Alistair's voice somewhere, a few dozen feet in front of her. It was interspersed with his sword methodically chopping through low brush. They'd been having to pick more and more through the game paths the deeper they'd gone in; it had been a long day, and even though the sun was high in the sky, Nell felt like she could probably sleep right on through until the next morning. Her robes were torn in a dozen places at the hem. Everyone was dirty, sticky, and sweaty, but at least spirits seemed to be high. Even Alistair and Zevran had hardly said a tense word between them all day... though perhaps that was due to Alistair's leading and Zevran's prowling presence in the rear. Nell had at first been wary about asking them both to come along but... well, Zevran, for all his constant casualness, had actually seemed like he wanted to help the Dalish. Alistair had barely left her side since she'd lost it in the glade the previous day... telling him to leave would not really be possible. To his credit, if he was distressed about this _further_ sidetrack from Denerim, Nell had no way of knowing. He was his usual effervescent and attentive self.

She smiled, watching him walk a little on ahead as she stopped to yet _again_ pull her robes from a clawing branch. She had scratches on top of her scratches. Nell frowned, waging war with the heathen plant, and nearly jumped when a much closer voice slid into her ear.

"I do not know how he can go on about the trees when there are much more delightful natural beauties to be seen here."

Nell turned her head to look behind her, where Zevran was leaning against the trunk of a sapling and regarding her as though he were watching his evening's entertainment. She didn't have to look to know what he saw - leg and more leg. She didn't try to prevent a smile from creeping on her lips. It was par for the course from him - he'd flirt with practically anything with a pulse.

"I take it you paid that grandfather tree, or something, because ever since we've passed it seems the branches grab me twice as often."

Zevran flashed a grin, all teeth, and stepped forward with his natural feline grace to grab at the last remaining snag. To his credit, Nell noted that he didn't take the opportunity for a cheap feel as she put her leg back down on the forest floor. As she glanced back up towards him to give thanks, she stilled. His face looked- odd. Normally, Zevran was all smiles, purrs, smirks, grins; his expression was mobile and liquid, adapting and changing with everything around him- never quite stoic or still. However, at the moment he looked... thoughtful. It was almost riveting to see him look at all serious and she found herself staring. His eyes met hers steadily, and though his voice teased and his mouth quirked upwards at one corner, his eyes never wavered.

"If I told you all of my strategy, there would be nothing left to surprise you with, my dear."

Nell's lips formed an 'o' shape, completely at a loss for how to respond for a few moments. Finally, even if just to break his somehow unnerving gaze that was making her throat catch, she offered the first response she thought of.

"I'm not sure that I can take any more surprises today."

"Ah." Something flickered in his face too quickly to analyze before he resumed his normal charismatic way, gallantly moving forward to pull a lower branch out of their path and gesturing for her to continue walking.

"Of course I do not wish to distress you, but... it is not often I feel the need to thank someone, so I should probably do it before I forget. Since I finally have you alone." He leaned close at that last and lifted his brows slowly and Nell chuckled. She liked Zevran. It seemed almost a dream that he'd once tried to kill her. As much as he _was_ undoubtedly an assassin and a hedonist- the lifestyle seeped from him, he lived in night and shadow - she got the sense that there was more to him than everything he so vividly proclaimed.

Zevran hid himself by pretending to hide nothing at all.

"What, exactly, have I done to deserve your gratitude?"

"You mean besides being royally gorgeous, sparing my life, and sharing your spoils?"

Nell smirked as an answer and lifted her brows invitingly. He returned the expression as they continued forward.

"Of course. Well. Did I tell you my mother was Dalish? I do not know if I mentioned it. She had these gloves... I know this does not make me Dalish, but..." He trailed off, and Nell felt concern flash across her skin - like a tightening, an awareness. It was very unusual for Zevran to falter at all in speech; that, along with his seriousness, made her feel at a loss. Furthermore, he _had_ already mentioned his mother, and it was also strange for him to repeat himself. Nell furrowed her brow and tried to glance closely at him, but there was not a hint anything was wrong. Mask firmly in place.

"In any case. I am glad that we decided to take this route and look for them." The statement was straightforward and fairly quiet. "I wanted to thank you for thinking of it, I suppose. Everyone else seemed terribly upset, though how they could be angry about such a romantic walk through the woods, I do not know. The forest is full of opportunities for those willing to take them." He met her eyes again, and she couldn't escape the meaning that was there, much as she wanted to. _He's -offering-..._

Quick as a flash, the Antivan captured her gaze, and her hand, with an absolutely predatory grin. "The next time you find yourself alone and wishing otherwise, you need only say the word. A man who requires your tears to understand your needs is not a man." His finished by dragging his lips ever so softly across her knuckles, eyes never leaving hers. His entire body was an invitation.

Nell felt her eyes fly open and her jaw drop. Zevran chuckled, the sound like silk being drawn across a cheek, and sauntered forwards through the trees, dropping her hand before she could even think to smack him.

Bastard assassin. How _dare_ he think that...!

Nell felt her cheeks flush. Entirely flustered, she made it a point to quicken her steps and brush past him and on towards Alistair and Wynne, who seemed to be talking a lot more animatedly up ahead. She felt a storm cloud on the edge of her mind that threatened to darken her mood. _This is what happens when you lose control. People take advantage. People get hurt._

Nell made a silent vow to whomever might be listening that she would not drop her guard again, lest other members of the party think she might be weak. They could pounce; they could second-guess her convictions. She couldn't be mad at Zevran- not exactly. He was responding to her mood and roiling sexual tension she was sure, and only that. Like he sensed an easy meal. It couldn't possibly be anything else..._His eyes had flashed. And his face... serious and tense._

She shrugged off the thoughts as she came to an abrupt halt, nearly crashing into Wynne's back.

"...Perhaps we could use this campsite?" That was Alistair. He sounded about ready to collapse. Dangerously tired.

"...I don't know... there is something odd here..." Wynne. She watched the old woman slump and she felt her own shoulders giving. Maker, they must have walked farther than she realized. She moved to Alistair's side and leaned on him, weary eyes dragging over the tents. How could she suddenly be so sleepy? His arm came around her back, but slowly, as if it weighed a hundred pounds. Even so, the very motion calmed her, made her even more tired... _Sleep....  
_  
She shook her head and squinted, trying to examine the tents. "These look.. new. Who could have been here? It seems... wrong."

Alistair let out a big yawn and suddenly sat, tugging Nell down next to him. She didn't argue the motion. "I don't know, but we could all use a break. I think we're so tired that we imagined the talking trees." His voice began to slur, and Wynne, too, crumpled down to sit at the last.

"Maybe just for a moment. These old bones." _Sleep. Rest._

Her head brushed against Alistair's shoulders and she felt him drop a smiling kiss on her brow before he sank against the grass.

It was the last thing that Nell felt before she died.


	11. Chapter 11

Author: aimorai  
Word count: 2,285

* * *

She must be dead.

Suddenly she couldn't breathe. She _wasn't_ breathing. Her chest was still. The lack of her heartbeat left a dead empty weight inside of her that seemed to spread outwards with every passing second. Panic welled up inside of Nell as she laid on the grass, paralyzed. Panic upon panic, as she realized that without the ability to draw breath, without the ability to scream, without her heart beating a staccato, she could barely even recognize the emotion. It was like a great crushing weight pinpointed in the depths of her skull. She longed to move even a fingertip, but she couldn't remember how. The panic got worse, a great hole, a crushing weight pushing her into a tiny and everlasting pit inside her own mind.

_This isn't death. This is worse._

She could feel, hear, see. Above all she felt like she was melting from the inside out, like something was drawing her down into the earth from her navel.

Alistair was beneath her and off to one side.

He was warm but oh, so still. His hand didn't grip her. _He's dead too._

Grief. There was no breath to steal, no heart to stop, no pain to clutch, but still she felt it.

She was dead and yet she could feel grief, and it rolled down her head to her toes. The ultimate irony. She couldn't cry, she couldn't grab him and shake him and yell at him to live. The knowledge made the inside of her skull reverberate in pain. The sucking in her stomach redoubled. Who cares? _He's dead, he's dead._

Did he feel like this? Just like this? Did he know, was he aware?

Oh so aware...She was awash in sensation. The grass tickled her nose. Her eyes were stuck open, staring at a piece of blue sky streaked with clouds. She knew she could hear because she could recognize the still of silence. The longing to scream welled up again from the depths of her belly and she let the tide wash over her, the pain between her eyes intensifying. _I'm dying, He's dying, I'm already dead. We're all dead_.

Just as the edges of her mind started to crack under the sorrow, she noticed a shift in the air around her and Zevran appeared. Well, part of him. He came out of nothingness.

_Zevran_.

_He poisoned me. He poisoned all of us. He's going to kill me. _

_I'm already dead._

He was crouched and cautious, the lean sinew of his arms taut as he gripped a dagger in his right hand, looking around the clearing. All traces of humor were gone; his face was set, but he was on the defense from his stance, and from the way his eyes darted quickly in all directions. It was not the look of a guilty man, but rather one who had _no idea_ what was going on.

Watching him gave her something to focus upon, something other than the fact that she wasn't breathing, and her heart wasn't beating, and she felt like she was being eaten from the inside out. She tried to move something, anything. Lips, tongue, form a word. _One word._ But it was no use at all - it was like she had dreamed that she could talk once, long ago. It simply was not possible.

Nell stared at Zevran, who was looking warier by the moment_. _She willed him to look at her. To see. To somehow understand. _I'm here!_ She'd always had a skill with mental forces- while that never transferred directly to the ability to read minds, maybe, just maybe...?

He turned towards her then, eyes directly on her face. _I'm here I'm here I'm here._

His left hand shot forward and cupped her around her neck, tilting her head back. She could feel it. She could feel every finger. He pressed hard against the pulse point of her throat, the color draining slowly from his golden skin when no rhythm surged beneath her skin. She could see most of his body now as he crouched over her head. _He didn't do this._ _He's protecting me._

She knew it from the first, but she had to think it. Had to think anything_. If I can think, I am not dead._ Her mind reached out to Alistair's still body beneath hers, a vain thought pounding at the front of her brain.

_Maybe he is not dead..._It was something to hope for, and hope felt better than grief.

Above her, Zevran closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, pressing even harder into her throat. It should hurt, but it didn't. She found herself riveted upon his motions. He was...angry? He spoke. It sounded amazingly loud, breaking through in the absolute quiet of the glade.

"Not again..." Strained. Sad. Heartbreaking. Her dead heart still managed to feel pain for him. Never had a person looked more alone. _I'm here...._

Zevran's head snapped upwards and he re-gripped his dagger. She saw him glance sharply towards where she felt Alistair laying beneath her and his jaw worked, his eyes bright and brittle. He looked back at her and his face seemed to contract upon itself, becoming perfectly still. His eyes...

Before she could read them he suddenly whirled to look behind him before jumping up with a growl.

"Ah. Kill me too, if you can!" His voice was hot and harsh and throaty, and she saw him lunge, two blades flashing beautifully in the bright sunlight before he was gone from her sight.

She heard him scream, lunge, challenge his opponent. She heard his armor shift as he fought something that was silent. As the noises waged on the sucking feeling at the center of her stomach intensified, and she couldn't help the feeling that she was being _absorbed._ Taken away, turned into energy in some alternate universe where she might be alive again. _I am dead, I am dead, but I am here. _She heard the battle move away from her and she could do nothing but listen and hope and wonder, and trust that Zevran could get himself out of whatever situation this was.

As suddenly as it began, it was over.

Her muscles, each and every one, tightened as if she had been fighting for days on end, and then suddenly released in a rush. Her lips parted and the breath that had been caught in her lungs the moment that she fell came out. _Breath. I'm breathing._

She heaved in another one and sat up straight, screaming as if she'd never stop for all her life. She didn't care if she woke the dead, she didn't care about anything. _I'm alive and I can scream and I can breathe_.

Alistair's arms shot forward and around her and turned her, crushing her against his armor, cheek-to-chest, and it hurt and it was glorious to feel the pain. His breath was ragged against her hair and he squeezed tighter as she lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck. Nell closed her eyes and opened them again and again because she could, lifting her head to see his face through tear-streaked vision.

His eyes were full of grief and pain and she knew he'd felt everything the same ways she had. They'd been dead, and now they were alive. She choked, somehow her voice finding itself. Too loud.

"We died...!" An exclamation, all of her incredulity at the situation trying to escape, staring into his eyes and willing him to confirm or deny or do _anything_, just do _something_.

Alistair's throat worked and his lips twisted, hands gripping tightly around her skull. "I...I killed you. This place..._I_ said we should rest." He stood abruptly, heaving Nell to her feet and turning, going to the other side of the clearing. Blurry-eyed, she saw Zevran helping Wynne to her feet. The Antivan was still tense, his muscles flickering, but his mask was in place. Now, though, she knew it for what it was. His eyes were still blank, and his posture gave away everything. Zevran had been scared, or... worse.

The elf turned, regarding Nell and Alistair with a cool look, explaining in a languid voice that belied his real state. "It was a demon, I think. Large, red, appearing from the ground? I don't know what it was doing but it... held you. Apparently it did not see me. Perhaps my training is for some good after all." He smirked towards Alistair at the end of the sentence before looking back towards Wynne. Nell felt her brow furrowing. _He won't look at me._

Alistair blanched, moving the hand that wasn't latched around Nell to run along the stubble at his jaw.

"Thank you. I saw... I think... we _all_ saw? What you did. You could have left us and you didn't."

Zevran turned to look at Alistair. His eyes were hard and beady, but his smile was his customary lurid grin, his voice a purr. "Consider us even, my friend. I try to kill your lady Warden, and then I save you all. Even _you_ can find no fault with me now, yes?" He grinned as Alistair stiffened a bit. "Of course, if you insist, I expect _proper_ thanks once we're away from prying eyes." He leered in Alistair's direction, moving his hand in an exceptionally expressive gesture that was hard to misinterpret.

Alistair's hand seized Nell tighter and he lifted a brow archly towards the Antivan, who clucked his tongue and raised his hands in peace.

"Come, let us leave this place before you all get the notion that I am a good person." He moved ahead, taking point now, his hands resting a little closer to his daggers than normal, but otherwise looking for all the world like they'd just finished a pleasant picnic in the woods.

Wynne chuckled then, shaking her head as if to relieve it of the last of the cobwebs as they started to set off. Nell felt dizzy, but more and more solid with every step they took from that cursed campsite. She slid her arm behind Alistair and his own hand drifted up and down her back gently, rubbing at points of tension. She shivered, slowing her steps and tugging at his arm until he looked down at her.

Alistair's face was lined with guilt, and she lifted a hand to rub gently at his cheek.

"You didn't kill me, you know. I think it was a Hunger Demon. I felt like it was... eating... me."

He shook his head forcefully. "I should have known better. I thought I could sense.. something... but I was weak. We all could have easily died, right there, and it was _my_ fault. If not for that..." He paused, and then grudgingly restarted " If not for Zevran..."

Nell smiled a bit ruefully, coming forward and getting up on her tiptoes to brush her mouth against his. "Well it's a good thing I'm usually the leader then."

He laughed, but it was sad and forced. Alistair grabbed her hands, dwarfing them with his armored gloves and looking into her eyes with an intensity she hadn't had since the night of their first kiss -- twenty lifetimes ago.

"I almost lost you. With all the darkspawn and the demons and... everything... we're facing death all of the time. I thought I was okay with that. I thought I was handling it." His hands squeezed around hers almost too hard. She was in thrall, lost in the pitch and sway of his voice, which was lowering to a harsh, strained whisper. "But then you _died."_

"Alistair-"

"No, listen. All I could think about when we were..." he motioned back with his head, lips straightening "...was all the things I hadn't said, or done, or all of my jokes. I wasn't even thinking about the Blight, or the Arl, or that we might not finish. I was just thinking about _you_."

Nell shook her head, bringing her fingers up to his lips to silence him. He seized her hand and kissed her fingertips, each one. His eyes never left hers and Nell felt her stomach roil beneath his gaze. Still. Always. Every time he looked at her like that.

"I wasn't thinking about the Blight either. Just _be_ with me, Alistair. Be yourself. That's all that I want. If you do that, there will be nothing unsaid or undone between us."

Alistair's eyes crackled and he pulled Nell closer, crushed against his breastplate, kissing her lips and hauling her off the ground so fiercely that he squeezed the breath and the last of the fear from her. She kissed him back greedily, selfishly drinking in what he was saying in the best way he knew how. _I won't waste any opportunities again._ She felt herself wishing that a safer campsite was nearby; five minutes after being dead, it seemed they both wished to feel very much alive.

Finally he grunted, slowly putting Nell's feet back on the ground and releasing her.

"I suppose we should go - Wynne will never forgive us leaving her alone with the Ant... Zevran."

Nell chuckled against Alistair's lips, pulling the bottom one in a little nip; a promise that this wasn't over. "Wynne can handle herself. And maybe he's right, you know. Perhaps mages _do_ have magical bosoms." She looked up at him through her lashes and he looked emphatically _down _below her face. She felt her lips curve in a knowing smile.

"I like the way you think."

Nell laughed, tilting her head and beginning to saunter off towards the woods.

"Wynne will be happy to hear you agree, I'm sure."


	12. Chapter 12

author: aimorai

Word count: 2,660

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She was the quiet center in the midst of a raucous evening at The Pearl.

Zevran studied her over the rim of his mug. He actually wasn't drinking too heartily - just enough to quell suspicion. Besides, Nell was drinking enough for two. His eyes took in the sight of her without a robe. Leather pants only succeeded in highlighting the length of her legs, and a green tunic belted at her waist whispered over the rest of her lithe curves. In truth, she was more covered than he usually saw her, but twice as alluring - if only because it was different. Even her hair was altered - normally pulled back, tonight she'd let it down, long brown curls with hints of red in the firelight.

It certainly wasn't alluring at all, however, that she was drowning in cheap ale and swallowed tears. _That_ was frustrating. And intriguing. And playing right into his hands. It was though fate had plucked her and dropped her directly into his lap - figuratively speaking of course. He hoped it would soon be literal, as well. She had become more and more distracting as the days had gone by and it was high time he did something about it before it drove him down dangerous roads.

He was certain that Alistair wasn't going to do anything about it anytime soon. Granted, some of the nightly interruptions of their relationship were _entirely_ his fault. But there were also the bandits, and Wynne's illness which added to the stall in affairs. Who was he to not simply... help fate along? The two of them seemed more than willing to constantly put things aside for others. A curious thought. They had all _died_, and Alistair still couldn't seize the woman and take her like she so richly deserved.

He swallowed heartily, trying not to think about her face as it had looked in death and the curling cold that had settled within him at the sight, and refused to entirely go away, as he slid next to her, leaning an elbow back against the bar.

"You know, my dear, if you merely wish to drown your sorrows then we could have gone somewhere a little more... quiet." He grinned.

Nell hiccupped.

He lifted a brow. "I thought you said you required distraction."

"I do." She pushed away her mug and stared at it, not really meeting his eyes or looking anywhere else, in fact.

"Ah...if you have not noticed there are many scantily clothed men and women not too far from here. I believe they are a bit more entertaining than your drink. Although I could be wrong." Deftly, he reached across and plucked the offending cup before she could reach out and grab it. Nell blinked, hazel eyes coming up towards Zevran's face, and her brow wrinkled.

"This wasn't... exactly the sort of distraction I had in mind." Her voice was still clear, not slurred. That was good. Sopping drunk would be no use to him at all.

"No? What better distraction? It is what you want after all, no?" His leaned closer slowly, though not forcing more intimate boundaries. Men and women were different in this; with women, it was much better to be invited.

She blanched, her eyes focusing more harshly on his own. Whatever surprise he felt, Zevran attempted to cover with a grin.

"Zev... You of all people should know what I've been going through. There always seems to be some _reason_ I can't..." She gestured, harshly, towards a man being led towards the back by one of Sanga's girls.

"...Convince the good Warden to come to your bed. Yes. I admit I always thought the man was foolish, but until now I did not believe him to be a fool."

She snorted a little, as if she might agree. Zevran felt his grin widen and he sidled closer, until his leg was touching alongside hers. He could almost smell victory, now.

"...Can I ask you a question?" She looked at him, hesitant. Almost vulnerable.

"Yes, but I get to stare at you luridly while you do so." He looked at her with slightly hooded eyes, just enough to catch her wry grin and pithy response.

"Ah yes, _that_ would be a change." She looked down, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from the bottom hem of her tunic. Her hair slid down across her shoulder as she did, and his hand twitched. "Do you.. think I said the right thing?"

"What, earlier? When he came running out of that house as if he'd lost a bet with a Crow?" Zevran couldn't stop a hard edge from coming into his normally lilting tones, and he paused for half a breath to silently clear his throat. _She is still thinking about him._ The thought did not sit well, and he shifted - though, try as he might, there was a stone settled low in his belly that refused to move. And the antidote was proving... trying. If it was, in fact, the antidote_. _A man could only hope.

She nodded and he sighed, waving a hand in the air as if directing the most melancholy verse in the world.

"In truth, my dear, I think you should have told him how things really are. He needs to learn a thing or two about taking what he wants and not relying on other people to make him happy." He felt his teeth snap together and he finished the thought on a purr, his hand coming down of its own volition and the tips of his fingers going under her chin to lift her eyes toward his again. "The man, gorgeous as he is, does not deserve your sorrow tonight. _He _left _you_ alone, did he not?"

Her face became pained and he almost regretted pushing her. _Almost. Though maybe she requires it. _She lifted her chin out of his grasp and he steeled himself.

One step forward, two steps back.

"He said he needed to think."

"Several hours ago."

She pinched her lips together in response to the truism and looked around the room, shaking her head and changing the subject. "I don't want to be here...but I also don't want to go back." She looked towards him again with her multi-colored eyes and Zevran was forced to sigh.

"I thought you would be so much more... _fun._" His voice was dramatic, but his eyes glittered, and Nell in return was forced to chuckle.

"I know... it was very kind of you to take me away, even if it was to...here. Everyone else wanted to _talk_ about it." She wrinkled her nose. Zevran reached out and touched the tip of it after she did so, causing her eyes to fly wide.

"And all you have done since we have been here is _talk_ about it." His voice mocked her prior emphasis, and he was rewarded with a self-deprecating grin forcing its way across her lips. "Perhaps you should have stayed, no? At least then I would already be enjoying myself with a much more loud and lively companion."

She arched a brow, some color returning to her cheeks at the challenge. "You think I'm not loud and lively?"

"Normally you are an enchanting, vivacious woman, it is true, but tonight I confess that you bore me." Their voices were back in their normal bantering range, and it seemed to be working to draw her out of her alcohol-induced haze.

She lifted her brows, opening her mouth slightly. Zevran could see the pink slip of her tongue click against the top row of her even teeth. She tried to be smooth and quick when her arm jetted out to grasp his wrist and pull him to his feet but rather failed at the attempted graceful maneuver- inwardly, he smirked and pretended to be overtaken, allowing her to keep the ruse.

"Perhaps I'll just have to surprise you."

"... I like where this is going."

Nell smirked, her eyes flashing, as she turned and dragged him behind the bar, where Sanga had allowed her to keep her satchel. She hoisted it without relinquishing his arm and turned into the hallway. He half believed they were marching towards a room but... ah, no, he was not _quite_ so lucky.

Instead, she actually did surprise him.

"Stand here." Nell let him go and he did as he was bid, amused at the commanding tone of her voice. She squatted down, rifling through her satchel. It was somehow a very feminine thing, watching her mutter and curse as she sought out whatever she was after. He tilted his head and enjoyed the view of her practically on her knees before him before she finally let loose an 'aha!' and returned to her full height.

In her hands, she held some kind of fabric, dark and leathery - the smell filled his nostrils with its divine, heavy scent - tied hastily into a bundle with a bit of twine. She handed it to him with a smug look taking over her features and he glanced at it.

Gloves. Zevran felt the muscles in his jaw tighten. They were supple and soft, cut for elvish hands, with Dalish embroidery around the edges. He gripped them tightly for what seemed like an interminable moment, until her voice cut across his curiously blank mind.

"Don't you like them?" He could hear the uncertainty creeping into her voice. _Say something._

"These are.. Dalish make, are they not? They are... like my mother's gloves. The stitching is different and they are not quite as supple, but yes, they are very similar." It was like reciting his thoughts straight from brain to mouth. _She remembered?_ A strange tightness crept its way from his stomach and up the sides of his throat, causing it to work. He swallowed to hide the offending emotion, although it seemed to still slowly burn, behind his eyes and much lower. Finally, he felt ready to glance up.

Nell's face was soft and studying, with a smile that he wasn't expecting. Happy, not smug.

"I... was not expecting such a gift." _Ever_. "Thank you. Very much."

"You're welcome." Her voice was quiet, and then she tilted her head and burst open into a sunny grin. "Surprised you?"

"Ah, yes." He was forced to admit it, curling one corner of his mouth into a smile. Inside, everything was havoc. The urge to kiss her reigned over everything else, even the urge to bed her. His muscles seemed to be not under his control - an unusual thing for any rogue - but some deep knowledge that such would not be her ultimate desire stayed his hand, even if it would earn him one night.

Because, even now, she was thinking of the other Warden. She always was.

_He is...an idiot. _Her kindness did not deserve to be taken for granted. Alistair too often did just that.

He would never forgive that man, friendship or no. Zevran was convinced that Nell's feelings for Alistair had developed simply because the Warden got there first.

Zevran nearly growled at the thought, holding onto the precious gift with one hand and reaching out to snag her with the other, marching her back towards the rooms in the Pearl.

"Now, it is my turn to surprise you."

Nell made a startled noise right on cue as she allowed herself to be hauled down the hallway. "Zev...?"

He twirled her around in front of an empty doorway and she leaned on the frame, curious, not at all wise enough to be scared of him in his current condition. Instead, she pressed.

"What's wrong with you?"

He gripped the gloves tightly, squeezing them in his hand, and looked directly in the eyes that haunted him every night in his tent. Eyes that he wanted, despite himself, to look at him in a certain way. _She never will._ Even with the knowledge, it wouldn't stop the want.

"My dear, I want to bed you. I would give you everything you desire tonight. You are gorgeous and kind, and you deserve such a kind gift in return for what you've given me." _What you've done to me._

Her eyebrows flew upward and he raised a hand to stop whatever verbal assault he knew was coming. "That is the first surprise. The second surprise is that I am _not_ going to bed you. I am going to leave you here and pay for two rooms. You will take this one. You need to sleep, and I need to leave your alluring company for the rest of the evening."

Nell stilled. There was no retort. She simply stared, eyes roving his face, seeing... who knew what. The very thought that she was trying to read him was annoying and unnerving. He took in a breath and then let it go, though not breaking the look.

"I do not expect you to understand, but I do expect you to never bring this up again. I have a reputation, you know." One corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. He started to bid his retreat, when her voice caught him from behind.

"Why?"

He turned slowly, looking over his shoulder.

"Why what?"

"Why won't you?"

Zevran swallowed, his mind flying. He thought of half a dozen lines to throw her way, but they all fell flat when he tried them on his tongue. In the end, he shrugged, and answered honestly for once, without wit or guile.

"Because it would be dangerous." Their eyes met, held. She licked her lower lip and the urge to go back and remove all he'd just said waxed strong. But one night would be all he would get.

And then she would regret it.

And he didn't want that. What he wanted..._No._ He tamped down the thought and locked it deep inside his mind. Her lips formed a few unspoken words before she settled on a response.

"Still thinking about killing me?" She had meant to lighten the mood, he knew, but it fell flat. Suddenly, he wasn't much in the mood for games. Not with her.

"Not that kind of dangerous, my dear." His voice was a low, soft purr. He hadn't heard himself use that particular tone in a long while.

She kept his stare and then finally nodded, once, faintly, and he turned his head about and went back into the main room. He heard her door close behind him and he closed his eyes at the same moment, shrugging his mask back into place as easily as if it had never left.

Immediately, he scanned the room, walking towards Sanga and lifting his finger to point out two girls. He pressed enough coin for two rooms, and two nights, into her hands and the woman smiled graciously. "I will need them both. The rooms, and the girls. I like a... change of scenery." Sanga nodded archly, turning to wave the two women he'd pointed out in his direction. Zevran turned and led the way to an empty room, ushering their giggling, perfumed bodies inside.

"Ah, ladies. We are in for a very _long_ evening, you and I." They sprawled on the bed, expectant and obedient.

As Zevran undressed, he looked them over.

They both had brown curls on the top of their heads, and the one had nice long legs. Their bodies were well-used, and the faces... well. He would dampen the light. It would have to do. It was the best he could expect. He just needed to get her out of his system.

The fact that his heart dropped as he crawled onto the bed, and his stomach twisted each time he sank into the substitute flesh, that had _nothing_ to do with it at all.


	13. Chapter 13

author: aimorai  
Word count: 5,503

A/N: Long chapter is very long, and heartily deserving of the M rating for this story. Fair warning.

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Nell's door flew open in the middle of the night - the loud crack of wood-on-wood woke her from her fitful sleep. Startled, she slid out from under the sheet of the bed Zevran had paid for and started to murmur, a ball of energy and lightning crackling from her fingertips and across the palm of her hand on command. The doorway darkened. She could make out a familiar silhouette backed by the candles in the hallway. Tall, muscled, and armored - and tense, with short crisp hair and breathing a bit raggedly. His face was shadowed, but she would know that familiar form anywhere.

Alistair.

Nell dismissed the spell and stood wordlessly across the room, tugging on her tunic to straighten it. She'd been used to sleeping clothed and had seen no reason to stop, even with an now-unfamiliar feeling mattress beneath her and sheets to cover herself.

Alistair's eyes shot towards the bed and he took three long strides into the room. He looked back at her and seemed to relax infinitesimally. At least, his voice was a sort of forced casual tone. He kept looking around the room, as if expecting a darkspawn to pop out of the closet.

"Sooo... funny story. Have you heard the one about how a Grey Warden goes back to his camp to find that his companion Warden is missing? It's a really good one. He wants to tell her something, you see, something really important. But she's not there! He gets told she's off with an Antivan Crow who tried to kill her once."

Nell narrowed her eyes as Alistair spoke - he was brewing for a fight. She turned, trying to make no sound, and grabbed a nearby candle. With a word, she lit it, and then proceeded to move around towards the edge of the bed, lighting two others she'd noted earlier on the wall. She feels Alistair's eyes on her back, her legs, roving over her like a trail of heat. It was always that way now, even with distance between them. She could _feel_ it.

"He looked all over the city for her, and then he thought about it. This particular assassin was a lech, you see, and so the Warden finally figured by the middle of the night that he might have taken his companion to a _whorehouse_." He spoke through gritted teeth and Nell flinched. "To do _Maker knows what_ with her because he's been eying her like the finest chunk of cheese in all of Ferelden for _weeks_ now. You see, the second Warden might have thought the first Warden didn't know, but he did, because despite bouts of idiocy he's not exactly _stupid_."

Nell turned after lighting the third candle and sighed, bringing her hands up in the air. "Alistair, nothing happened. Do you trust me so little? After you left, I needed to... be distracted. Zevran, who is my _friend_, offered. And I accepted. And he took me _here_, yes, but _nothing happened_."

Alistair rounded on her advanced so suddenly that Nell found herself backed up against the bedpost, eyes widening. His expression was sad and hurt but somehow also carnal. She saw the corner of his jaw tightening and loosening as he swallowed, and he spoke in a low, sliding tone. "Either that, or I'm just too late to see it."

Nell resisted the urge to slap him. _Stupid, stubborn man._ "So, in fact you don't trust me." Her voice sounded clipped and dead to her own ears.

"I don't trust _him._" Alistair nearly spat out the word. He was different, somehow. Even when he'd been angry before, he'd managed a jocular tone. This was deeper, harsher. His proximity as always caused a reaction - this time unwanted- to touch him. Her mouth felt dry and her skin itched, and the string he somehow controlled at the center of her stomach tried to pull her forcefully that extra half-step that would take her into his arms. Nell gripped the bedpost behind her more tightly and willed herself to stay put.

"I understand why you're upset. I probably would be too. But nothing happened. We had a few drinks, and then he went off to another room and left me here to sleep it off. That's it, and that's all." Alistair didn't know to know the rest of what had almost transpired. She had pushed the look on Zevran's face as he left her deep inside her mind and heart. It would do no good to think about it now, or mention it.

"I just... I suppose I needed to be _alone_ too. Surely you understand." She couldn't stop her accusatory tone and his face worked.

"Alone. With the assassin. For someone who's the smartest woman I know, sometimes you make less sense than I do. That's... almost an accomplishment."

Nell tilted her chin up defiantly. "Away from everyone else. All they wanted to do was talk about _you_ and I didn't want to hear it. I didn't know what to say, I didn't know _why_ you had run off without me, I didn't know _what_ I did, and getting asked about it a hundred times would not have made me suddenly have some sort of epiphany."

Alistair blinked and he leaned backwards, giving her room to finally breathe. "This is about me?"

Nell scoffed, waving her hands up in the air in complete annoyance. "It is _always_ about you! I _do not understand you_. I am convinced you are a _crazy person._ When I try to tell you how I really feel, you get depressed and sulk. When I try to make you feel _better_, you get depressed and run away. You say you want to be with me, but jump at any opportunity _not_ to do so. I do not know how to make you happy. Or how to get through to you. You... you are the one thing to which I have _no answers_. It's like I can do everything right by you except when it comes to something being... _between_ me and you. Maker..." Nell felt her head shake as she leaned it backwards, the base of her skull making a dull thudding sound against the bedpost "... Does that even make sense?"

Alistair had backed away a few more steps by the time she was done until he was leaning on the wall opposite of Nell. His face was curiously blank. After a heartbeat, he started to take off the parts of the armor that he had on him and place them down beside him as he spoke. His tone had lost a lot of the edge it had previously, and his eyes had grown brighter. It was almost conversational.

"So did I mention before that I had to tell you something important?"

Nell blinked, derailed. "What?" She couldn't help but sound incredulous. Did he have _nothing_ to say after she'd bared her soul? Typical. Her eyes moved to where he was taking off armor -- starting with his pauldrons, then his sword belt, both of which fell to the floor with a clunk as he continued.

"When we went to see my sister today, I felt... so much the fool. I could tell that you wanted to say something... different than what you said."

Nell arched a brow, squeezing her hands a bit more around the pole that was increasingly responsible for holding her on her own two feet. She remembered all too well how he'd looked coming out that house. Lost. Hating himself. Ashamed. And as much as she wanted to tell him that it should have been what he expected, and that his hope had been a bit naive... she couldn't. Because one of the things she'd always found so endearing about Alistair was his ability to hope. To find beauty and think about kind, sweet things in the midst of all the sham and drudgery of life. And telling him _not_ to do that... was something she could not do. She wouldn't change him for the world.

He glanced up and seemed to find encouragement in something on her face - what, she had no idea - and he continued after taking a long breath, removing his gauntlets one by one and letting them fall where they may at his feet.

"And you told me... that you cared about me. I mean you said others, but you meant you, right? And right then, I realized something. Something very important. Something I thought I'd forgotten about you. You talked me down after meeting my horrible sister because you wanted to protect me. You were... worried about me, as usual and... you have never tried to force me to understand anything, or do anything, out of my own way or time. Even when it frustrates you."

Nell sucked in a breath. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller. His eyes had drifted over her features and finally locked on her own, and his voice was gaining strength with every syllable - she would think him completely confident, except for a lingering wariness and questioning in the depths of his soft gaze.

"Nell, you will tell me when I'm being stupid- which is a lot - and when I'm being foolish. You will tell me how to do things better, and you will tell me when you're sad, and when you're unsure. But you've never once told me to do anything against...how I feel. And that... is a rare thing. And right then, it scared me... because I... don't know what to do. I've been... scared, and I've been taking every opportunity _not_ to be with you because...I don't know how to be." He took of the last of all of the sundry pieces of his armor that he could remove on his own, leaving his breastplate, and started to walk forward with more purpose that she'd ever seen in him before.

Nell felt light-headed. Her tongue was thick and her heart had somehow taken residence in her throat as he went about answering all her unasked questions. He'd removed all of her arsenal and she felt exposed, even though _he_ was the one undressing. Once he was within arm's length, he seemed suddenly agitated, and his hands came up to gesticulate wildly as he spoke.

"And I really, _really _don't know how to ask you this. You'd think it would be easier - I mean, we've talked about it and almost _done_ it but...every time I'm around you I feel like my head's about to explode, and I can't think straight, and..."

"And you run away." Nell's voice came somewhere from her stomach, considering as her heart was still blocking her voice box. It was soft and fluttery and girlish, and she didn't really care. She was fixated on Alistair's face, firm yet soft, vulnerable and strong, and _Maker..._

"Yes." He confirmed, his arms slowly coming back down to his sides before he continued. "Here's... the thing. Being near you... makes me crazy. Obviously."

He managed to smirk and her heart pounded, her throat working to accommodate the emotion rising up at each word he spoke.

"But...I can't imagine being without you. Not... ever." With those words, he looked directly into her eyes, and the thudding stilled for an eternal moment. _Not ever_. It seemed like both a blink and a lifetime since they'd met other, and it hadn't been easy or straightforward. He was correct, however - imagining it _not_ being so was like the antithesis to everything that felt right, regardless.

"I don't know how to say it another way. And I want to spend the night with you. Here. I know... what I feel now. I kept wanting to wait for the perfect time, and the perfect place but... when will it _be_ perfect? If things were, we wouldn't even have met. We sort of... stumbled into each other, and I found myself falling for you despite all the fighting and everything else..."

_Damn him_. Damn him for saying the right things.

"I've never done this before and you _know _that... despite your lessons...and I want it to be with you. While we still have the chance. We've... I've... wasted too many chances already. I'd like to be able to say that I threw caution to the wind, just once."

Nell's mind was blank. Her heart had swelled and taken over all of her inner space, beating both fast and slowly, coils of heat radiating out over her skin. It was too much. She felt like she would drown, awash with the feelings he and only he could evoke. Fortunately, her body was willing to take over. Her hands flew to the sides of his face before he could finish his thought and pulled him close, her lips finding his in the low light of the room, and she set about ravishing his mouth. His breastplate came forwards against her and crushed her breasts - it would _have_ to go, and soon - but right now it didn't matter.

He returned the kiss for a long moment. She was amazed at how stiffly tense his neck and jaw were beneath her fingers- though it eased as they sank against each other, replaced by another sort of ethereal, fine tension that went back and forth between them and was different altogether in nature.

Finally, of silent accord, they pulled away and her numb fingers went clawing for the straps to his breastplate. He helped as best he could, his eyes never leaving her face. She jerked and tugged and he managed a low chuckle, lifting a brow, before it finally dropped to the floor with a clang. Nell leaned back against the bedpost, suddenly as unsure as she'd been on her first night with anyone. The man made her _feel_ virginal, except for the riot of sweet, aching pain that settled low in her belly - that knowledge of where it would lead.

His arms came forward around her waist and held her, neither pushing nor pulling, his thumbs tracing up and down the indentation there. He imagined his expression mirrored her own- determined, but unsure. He lifted his lips in the gentlest of smiles, his voice lowering an octave. "I think at least _this_ is something right between you and me."

Nell chuckled, her hands gliding up his chest over his tunic. "Promise me something."

He lifted a brow. "As long as it doesn't involve you running off again and chasing you. I'm quite tired, really. Bruised, too."

Nell gave him a slightly withering look, but wasn't able to keep it long. "Promise me...that you won't let anything distract us tonight. I don't care if the archdemon itself breaks down that door. Understood?"

His grin was wicked, teasing. Like a pirate. "Yes ma'am. And you? Nothing will distract you from the task at hand?"

Nell leaned forward, letting her bottom lip trace along his in the barest of kisses, whispering against his mouth. "You're the one apologizing to me, here."

"Oh _really_? I suppose I'll have to torture a promise out of you then."

"...My toes are a bit out of your reach."

"There's another method. Even more secret. Only used for the most dangerous of apostate mages."

"Oh _really_?" Her voice mimicked his earlier, and Alistair grinned, moving his foot behind him a bit awkwardly to draw his sword belt closer. Nell blinked, looking down towards it. He bent swiftly to retrieve it, pulling out not his long sword but a small dagger that he kept for a thousand everyday uses. He held it up, the flat edges of the blade catching yellow and gold in the firelight as Nell fought her surprise.

"Ah, Alistair? Normally blades are not used... uh...well...in these circumstances." Her mind flashed with a thousand images of what in the world he could be about, each more devious than the last.

He surprised her. There must, in fact, be 1,001 uses for a blade in bed. Gently, and with a blush to his ears, he put the tip of the blade on the topmost tie of her tunic, nestled just beneath the pulse point in her throat, and flicked it upwards a few degrees. The tie fell apart easily, exposing the top part of her chest. She sucked in a breath. The air simmered. His eyes fell to her skin, and then back up. The blush expanded to suffuse his cheeks as Nell regarded him. She felt one of her brows slowly lifting.

He grinned a little sheepishly..."I heard... Well, I thought about..." He cleared his throat, trying again. "I've always wanted to do this."

"Innocent Chantry boy, indeed."

"Well, one...hears things...So... do you promise?" He tried to make himself sound fearsome and Nell couldn't help but let out a girlish giggle.

He responded swiftly, moving the tip of his dagger down to the next tie and cutting it open with one smooth movement of his wrist. He was delicate and sure, watching his work in the dancing orange light. The tunic began to gape open, exposing the inner swells of her breasts. Alistair heaved in a slow breath. Normally, in the camp, it was all fumble-and-feel.. neither of them had been much able to see each other. The night and the fire shimmered around them, filled with desire - his and hers- so potent it was almost like a taste, heady and dizzying. His eyes rested on her breasts, and his voice rumbled out of his chest.

"Promise?"

Nell tried to smile but found she couldn't -- her lips just quirked. "No."

Alistair made a tsk-tsk sound and moved his dagger down the remaining ties of her tunic, slowly, cutting each with care, until it was entirely open in two halves. He dropped the dagger to the floor and his hands, more daring than the rest of him, moved up underneath the dangling fabric. With the backs of his fingers he traced up her stomach and just brushed, like a whisper, over the sides of her breasts. She couldn't help but shiver at the contact, but he kept moving, up to her shoulders, easing the fabric back off of the rounded joints until it fell to the floor. His eyes feasted and heat followed wherever he looked. Just the look alone caused a rush of blood to her breasts - the tips crinkled, beginning to peak. _From his eyes_. Nell felt like a schoolgirl all over again. She was already breathing quickly, as if they'd just run a sprint.

His right hand rose. He trailed an unsure path across her collarbone with the backs of his fingers, before reversing his hand and lowering it. She tilted her head down to watch his long, rough fingers close about her breast, gently, and then tighter. Nell sighed; it was the first time he'd touched her bare skin there. She thanked the Maker for making this particular bedpost as she leaned back against it. He pressed forward, only a thin etching of light between their bodies as he raised his free hand to cup the curve of her other breast, caressing and tightening his grip around each one in turn. He was learning; it was almost a kind of worship. Nell felt her skin flush, heat sliding through her belly with each stroke of his fingers, and licked her lips, leaning her head forward in an attempt to capture his mouth while he was distracted. He sensed the approach, however, and drew back with a wicked chuckle, letting their lips brush but no more.

"Promise me." Temptation against her mouth.

"_Maker, _Alistair, you know I promise!"

"Was that so hard?" She felt him grin before he sealed his mouth over hers, closing the gap between their bodies finally - hip to hip, chest to chest, his arms moving from her breasts around her shoulders and pressing her against him. His tongue invaded her mouth and Nell dueled with it, giving as much as she took, her hands clawing at his tunic and lifting it.

Off, off, everything off.

She suddenly felt impatient, her body's demands pounding on the inside of her head. He make a sound like a chuckle into her mouth, stepping back just enough to pull off his shirt obligingly before returning against her.

She felt the beginnings of his arousal and molded herself against it -- he was only a few inches taller than her, and the ridge inside his pants fell almost directly between her legs as she pressed her hips forward, rewarded with a hiss as he mimicked the motion. His anticipation only redoubled hers; her limbs nearly shook with the effort of not ravishing him there on the floor of the room. The promise of his body was absolutely intoxicating.

Nell stepped back from the bedpost and made a move towards the bed. She could feel him tense behind her, but it was only because they had never crossed this line before. She took the lead, turning around and fixing her eyes on his as she undid the buttons of her breeches and slid them over her hips and down to the floor. She hadn't bothered with anything under her clothing - she'd changed so fast before in the camp, it had seemed superfluous at the time. She knew the light from the candles would find her - he could see everything.

In contrast, the candlelight behind him made Alistair a silhouette, with the burning cores of his dark eyes blazing as he looked at her. She could see the barest outlines of his features, lit from behind in a flickering, golden glow, his face and body etched with the hard-edged lines of male desire. He looked indescribably sexy and Nell felt her lips, mouth, and throat go dry -- the moisture coalescing far lower. For a moment, she thought she might have to retrieve him from the place where he stared, but in half a heartbeat he advanced forward, his hands finding a firm hold around her waist, fingers flexing.

"Maker's breath..." his voice was thready; a low, whispering grumble that struck to the very center of her emotion. Watching him, her fingers found the fingers of his own pants, and they moved as one to undo them and pull them down, along with tugging off his boots. Nell spared a quick glance toward his arousal and her body thrummed .

Yes, all of him was built from the same mold.

He seemed entirely captivated with her, almost within a dream. and so she moved again, sitting on the bed and then pushing herself back until her entire body was upon it. He followed, brushing his hands, legs, arms, whatever was convenient on her skin, as unwilling as she was to break contact.

Nell opened her legs and guided Alistair above her. She had been thinking about this for so long that she felt she might possibly die if she didn't feel him within her as soon as possible. However, his forehead crinkled just slightly and he looked down, as if something was out of place. Before she could stop him, his hands roved her inner thighs and he gave her a questioning look. Nell gnashed her teeth inwardly.

It was confirmed. He was going to kill her.

"Is something...wrong?" she managed. Nothing was wrong physically, she was absolutely sure.

He seemed to have difficulty finding his voice. His hands continued their delicate tracing of the insides of her legs, pure torture - she felt her skin shiver beneath him - and he had trouble lifting his eyes from what lie between them. "I want to...make sure you... enjoy this." He sounded almost like a child - vulnerable and unsure; but at the same time a man, wanting and convicted.

Nell stilled for a brief second before raising her back slowly off the bed and putting a hand beneath his chin, lifting his eyes toward hers. "I am already. And I will. I know..." She licked her lips, her throat going dry as his questing fingers got closer and closer towards the throbbing between her legs. If he touched her, she'd lose it. "That... you've probably heard that women require... coaxing."

It was difficult to form sentences. Maker, no man had done this to her before by just a _touch_, or the question of a touch. "But by Andraste's flaming sword, Alistair, I am not one of them right n..." her thought was cut off when his fingertips decided not to listen to her at all and slid to the folds between her legs , tortuously moving upwards, as wondering and worshipful as his gaze upon her had been. Nell shuddered, bodily, her breath caught in her lungs. _Oh, Maker_. The man was too stubborn by half.

His hands were untutored and didn't know exactly where to touch, or how, so she was subjected to another torturous stroke, down and then upwards, at the same light pressure. She reacted in the same way, sighing and leaning her head forwards against his shoulder. He made a noise that sounded something like a cat enjoying his cream. Words were not possible right now.

He moved again, with light pressure, this time making a circle and she couldn't help her moan. _Not possible._ It was not possible to bear this for long. He did it again, and again, obviously encouraged by her noises, and she whimpered. Finally, Nell managed to move her hand enough seize his own, roughly guiding him to the tiny spot that was the pulse of her body's want and showing him the pressure to use. It was too late to protest; the only thing she knew was that she required relief.

Alistair learned. Quickly. As usual. After a minute or so, she couldn't help but lift her hips and press into his hand. She was all throbbing emptiness from the waist down. He shifted, using his thumb to press down just as she lifted up and something inside her began to fracture.

She groaned against his neck and bit into his skin, rather hard, and he jumped, his touch momentarily stilling. Nell seized the moment like a dying man grabbing for water and scooted her hips back away from his bedeviled hand, deciding on a whim to return the favor - _see how he likes it_ - and groping forward in the dark until she found his arousal. She wrapped her fingers around it and squeezed, once, then stroked.

His body seized and he let out a shuddering breath.."...Oh."

"Yes. Oh." She bit off the words, though not harshly, her voice sounding ragged to her own ears. Some deep part of her mind enjoyed the feel of him there in her palm -- absolutely rigid at the core, and yet surrounded with velvety softness that was absolutely delicate and vulnerable. Not unlike the rest of him, really. She stroked again with a small twist of her wrist and Alistair bit off a groan, putting a hand down to still her touch before she could repeat the motion. _Cheater_.

"I... think I... understand."

"Mmm." Nell released her fingers as he squeezed his around her once again, like a silent plea - he lifted that hand up to his mouth and pressed a hot kiss to the inside of her wrist, then locked eyes with her.

For the smallest moment, she was almost unsure how to proceed, but she regrouped and reminded herself that there would be a time for thought, and a time for other things. Right now was a time for _doing_ what they should have been for so long.

She lay back on the bed again and Alistair crawled over her, guided by gentle pressure of her hand on the back of his neck. There was a small pause for rearranging of limbs, until her legs were open beneath him and he was pressed between. Everything about him was tense - even his breathing. He loomed over her, a large, warm shadow, the tips of her breasts brushing with ever more sensitivity against the wall of his chest.

_So_ tentatively, he moved, angling his hips and thighs until she felt the pressure of him between her legs. She lifted and rearranged her own hips, gently, causing him to glide against her intimately. He shuddered, his hands fisting on the sheets by either side of her head.

Nell lifted her hands to cup his face, licked her lips, and tried to find her voice. Every nerve within her was crackling to have him, for this moment, _for forever, _and she mentally put a barricade on the overwhelming emotion to seize. Instead, she guided.

"Slowly, Alistair. Breathe, and take me slowly."

Alistair hauled in a breath that was both deep and weak, and pressed himself in, just an inch or so, his eyes watching hers almost religiously. Nell's breath hitched and she murmured encouragement, drawing his face towards hers for a slow kiss, hoping to distract him, ease and soothe him. She opened her mouth and relaxed her jaw, giving over her mouth with the rest of her body, complete open acceptance.

His tongue invaded her mouth deeply at the same moment that he slid home inside of her, slowly, all the way to the hilt. Nell sighed out against him, her bones melting at the feeling. _Yes. This. _

Nothing was stopping them or at odds between them, hanging there unsaid, and the rightness of the feeling only fueled the want that he and only he could sate. Physically... and emotionally. Deeper emotion than she would be willing to admit, causing her heart to flutter and swell until bursting.

He paused, and Nell smiled against his mouth, and set about slowly showing him the dance. First she pressed him yet deeper, her body throbbing harshly at the sensation, and then she rocked herself back, easing half his length from her, and then pushed again forward.

He caught his breath, his mouth breaking away as his head dropped to the pillow beside hers, eyes closed, concentration etched over features harsh and focused with _want._ He took a moment to apparently collect himself, and then hesitantly mimicked her motion... times two, pulling himself almost entirely out of her before pushing back in with one flex of his hips, so deeply it caused them both to hiss.

Nell knew neither of them would last very long like this. Her entire body pounded with the need for release -- he could be faring no better. Her legs, of their own volition, wrapped around his back after the next press and he groaned out something that sounded like a word. His voice was so low that all Nell heard was the rumble of it, but she sensed his approval when his next thrust came quicker, and with more urgency. She couldn't help but moan in his ear.

"Yes. Like that." She tilted her hips to open herself as much as she could, to take him deeper and ever deeper, wanting more and more closeness, to be more and more around him, with him, in him, in each other. His rhythm started to grow less paced, his hands groping blindly on the blankets beside her as he charged on, not much able to discipline himself. She didn't want him to, and she gave up right along with him. Gave up all control and thought and simply went along for the glorious ride. The last coherent thought Nell had was that he was apparently hell-bent on driving them both to oblivion.

Her mouth swallowed his soft, breathy moans and he greedily devoured her louder, urgent ones, their lips trying to stay together between hauling in breath - never enough breath, there was no air. His hips rolled against her as he quickened the pace, harder, and Nell felt her head throw itself back beneath him, her thighs wrapping and flexing against him, clinging as though for life itself. He lifted his weight on his hands then, above and over her, gaining yet more leverage with a loud groan that he bit off at the end, his eyes finally closing. Alistair pushed through the roiling wave that seemed to swallow them both. Faster, faster, the tide breaking, before he thrust hard, one final time, directly into her heart and soul.

Nell saw stars and a yellow hole before she followed him, falling, tumbling head over heels into ecstasy, beneath and around and _with_ him and it was a cruel joke of life that it would ever have to stop, because nothing could be better.


	14. Chapter 14

author: aimorai  
Word count: 1,564

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Nell was absolutely festooned with blankets. It was like a private heaven. Sheets were wrapped around her legs and a larger, more comfortable and soft covering draped over her body like a cotton-and-linen cloud. The feel on her naked skin was delicious, and Nell, half-asleep, wiggled herself deeper into the cocoon.

Next to her, she heard a long-suffering sigh that roused her, just a bit. Her mind railed against the thought of waking and she burrowed more forcefully into her haven.

"... If you steal any more of the blankets I will be forced to use drastic measures."

Her brow furrowed and she humphed, turning entirely over onto her side and yanking the coverlet with her.

"...I did warn you."

Strong, warm arms snaked around Nell's middle and she managed a squeaking sound, her eyes partially opening as she was lifted bodily, upwards, and then clear on over the other side of the bed, with a wall of hard, naked male body between her and the nest she'd managed to make for herself. Alistair ignored her burgeoning pout and grabbed the wad of blankets, throwing it over himself and sighing contentedly, his head falling back onto a pillow. It was full dark in the room - at some point, the candles must have gone out. Nell really had no idea what time it was - there were no windows in a whorehouse. Although that was practical for many reasons, it made it difficult to discern if they'd been there two hours or twenty.

All the warmth that had been invested in sleepy limbs started to eke out of Nell's muscles and she plastered herself up against Alistair's side, still trying not to entirely wake up. Of course, now the front of her body was almost _too_ warm and her backside doubly felt the chill. She lifted her head, peeking under her lashes towards him, her hand starting to creep along his abdomen in the hopes of balling a fist in the blankets that he now entirely controlled.

His own hand grabbed hers before she could make a break for it, shackling her around the wrist and moving the encroaching arm down between them.

"No. You're being punished." Alistair's voice was positively _oozing_ with relaxation.

"But I'm _cold_..." Her voice was fairly petulant, but Nell didn't even care. He was a cruel man, absolutely brutal.

"And _I_ have been cold for half the night."

"But I didn't _know_ you were cold and you _do _know I am, so therefore..."

Alistair groaned, the palms of his hands coming up to his face, each digging into their respective eye sockets. "Are you _really_ going to whine until I give you a blanket?"

Nell's lips twisted playfully, continuing to watch him. "Whining works for you all the time."

He snorted, and she had the pleasure of once again experiencing the unnerving sensation of being lifted like a child as he grabbed and rearranged her again, plopping her down unceremoniously upon the expanse of his chest. She came face-to-face with one of his scars, a jagged, rather thick white line tracing a hair's breadth underneath his collarbone. She stared at it as Alistair jerked and tugged on the blankets until they fell over-top of them both. The thin silver chain of his mother's amulet glistened near the edge of her vision, and she delicately moved it away.

One of her fingers decided to trace the scarred skin. It was not perfectly knit by any means; the raised knot of flesh underneath spoke volumes about the healer's skill, or lack thereof. _Her _particular lack of skill in the art. Wherever Wynne's hands had worked, the scars were much more minimal and flat. Her own handiwork was absolutely ugly in comparison, and she felt her lips pucker, almost in shame.

"Do you remember when you got this?"

"By the Maker... are you still not asleep? Sleep. Sllleeeeeeep."

"I _was_ asleep until I was so rudely interrupted. And now I want to talk."

"...It's worse than I feared. We've only been together one night and now she wants to _talk_. The other Wardens warned me about this once. Next thing you know you'll be making me hold your things and... and making me not eat so much cheese, or..."

"...Alistair?"

"What?"

"You're rambling."

"I think it's entirely relevant! You want to talk, I want to sleep, but you're...._female_, so you win, don't you?"

"That's right. Thank goodness you're a quick learner, you saved me _months_ of training." Nell grinned up in the direction of his face, her fingers still swirling around his scar. Alistair groaned a little and thumped his head back on the pillow, his hand coming up to lazily thread through her curls. It was ridiculously comforting and she tilted her head towards the sensation.

"Yes, I remember that particular beating. Only because you almost killed me when you tried to heal it."

Nell bit her lip a little at the memory. He'd gotten the wound during that horrible night at Redcliffe, when the dead walked and the villagers were on their last legs. He'd had to fight with the wound, fending off bodies left and right for long, agonizing minutes before Nell could staunch any of the bleeding. His bone had broken through his skin and it had made her physically sick. The ghastly white color of the scar was nothing in comparison to Alistair's stark mortality staring her in the face, shaking her confidence. She'd botched the healing spell entirely, causing some fragments of bone to actually crack back _into_ his neck, causing yet more lifeblood to pool from him... He'd been so pale...She closed her eyes, trying to will the visual into the Fade.

"I don't know what I would have done if..." She trailed off. If Morrigan hadn't been there. If they'd been unable to do anything.

His fingers worked through her curls slowly, massaging on her scalp in the same lazy, half-thoughtful way. It was a welcome distraction from the remembrance that suddenly seemed tattooed on the insides of her eyelids

"You mean you already wanted me then?" His voice teased and purred at the same time and she pinched a little bit of skin on his shoulder.

"I don't know. It's all a blur. I remember panicking and thinking that I _needed_ you. Want and... everything else...Well. I didn't think of it. Though maybe my brain just needed to catch up to the rest of me. That happens once in awhile."

Alistair humphed and re-settled his head, mashing it into the pillow behind him as if he would make it as flat as the mattress. Nell's eyes continued to rove along his scar thoughtfully. _Did I know... even then? _There was something about Alistair from the beginning. Perhaps it was just kinship -- fellow Wardens, thrown in together. You try to get along because you must. His unflappable humor was a boon far more often than it had been a burden, and his approval had always made her feel... justified in her decisions. His confidence bolstered hers. _If Alistair likes me, I must be doing something right_. How many times had she had that thought? For all her independent decision making, she had to admit that from the first, his very presence had wreathed its way into her conscience and stamped its claim. Not love, at least at first. But something.

Would the same have happened had he been anyone else? An older Warden, far more serious? Or younger and cocksure? Someone more like Zevran, or Sten or... _anyone_ else but Alistair? Would it have happened? The thought was a little jarring. Perhaps it wasn't even worth the effort of parsing it out...but...

"I'm glad it's you." She whispered against him, having no idea if he would hear or not.

"Mmmm." He sounded for all the world like he was both not listening and about to fall back asleep and Nell sighed, putting her head underneath his chin. His warmth seeped into her from underneath, drugging, and she closed her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart under her ear. There would be time to tell him what she was thinking later. She curled up one of her legs along his and Alistair suddenly jerked away at the movement, his free hand sliding down her back to re-adjust the offending limb, taking it out from between his and to the side, before possessively grabbing onto her hip. She didn't bother lifting her head, but she made a questioning noise against him. Not that she minded his hand there. Or anywhere.

"Before I forget... I need to defend myself. You deliver just as many beatings as the darkspawn, my dear. You do realize you kicked me _twice_ last night in...the groin." He sounded almost embarrassed even mentioning his own body parts and Nell quaked with the effort of suppressing a giggle.

"...It's not funny. There could be serious, long-term damage. You steal covers and you _kick_. There should be warnings attached to women." His fingers continued to drag through her curls and along her scalp, and his voice was still thick. The rhythm of his hand and his heart was hypnotic.

She let her lips brush along his collarbone and murmured her apology.

"Just thought you should know..." His hands continued to drift over her head, wreathing a sleeping spell as potent as there had ever been. She succumbed quickly.


	15. Chapter 15

Author: aimorai

Word count: 2,440

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The second time Nell awoke, there was only mattress beneath her. She reached out with her senses and felt Alistair nearby; a depression in the bed where he was sitting or laying. She sighed audibly, moving in a stretch that ended up involving almost all of her muscles.

How long had they slept? It was, unfortunately, a pertinent question. If she had her way they'd be laying on this bed for days, but that was hardly practical. They had Brother Gentivi to find, never mind that their absence couldn't possibly have gone unnoticed for the entirety of the night. It _must _be morning at least - Nell actually felt rested, and when was the last time _that_ had happened?

"Good, you're awake, you can try this on."

Nell sat up at the sound of Alistair's normal voice - unfortunately divested of the sleepy rumble she was growing to enjoy - and blew some hair out of her face. The candles were re-lit around the room, aiding her in the bid to actually wake up.

He was sitting at the edge of the bed with her tunic in his hand, along with a needle and thread. He'd thrown his pants back on but was still topless, and the overall sight was both exceptionally sweet and somehow sexual at the same time. She lifted a brow, and then crawled forward to check on his handiwork over his shoulder. It was straightforward enough; he'd just ripped the cut ties out from the tunic and sewn the two edges straight down together. The stitches were mostly-even and Nell found herself smiling.

"That's... actually very thoughtful of you. I'd forgotten that you'd maimed my clothing."

"Well, I aim for perfection. I'll rip your clothes off and then sew them in the morning, every woman's dream, right?" He grinned and held out the shirt, which Nell grabbed and threw over her head. It had been big to begin with, so the loss of an inch or so in girth was no impediment.

"Mm, thank you." Nell slid her arms around Alistair from behind, dropping a kiss at the joining of his neck and shoulder. She could somehow _feel_ him grin in response before he grabbed one of her hands and lightly kissed it, then bent down and picked up her discarded pants.

"Much as I would like to stay, we had better get back so we can hear everyone talking about us." He sounded both hesitant and resigned to the fate and forced himself to his feet, rubbing his hands through his hair a few times.

Nell sighed, rolling onto her back on the bed and pulling her breeches on, her voice thoughtful as she tied them in place.

"You know, Alistair, I think I expected you to be different in the morning. Not...that I mind at _all_ how you are, but..."

"What, did you think I'd panic and fumble all over you and run off to the Chantry to confess my evil, horrible sins?" He sounded amused and Nell chuckled.

"Well, not to put too fine a point on it but...yes."

"You know...according to the sisters I should have been struck by lightning by now. I assume by the fact that we're both still living means that the Maker probably doesn't mind too much. And if he doesn't mind, I probably shouldn't bother worrying, don't you think?"

Nell giggled, finally getting off the bed. The floor felt cold beneath her bare feet and she frowned, starting to hunt around for her shoes. She heard Alistair move towards the door and open it a crack as she replied.

"Well, there's always later should we somehow prove offensive..."

She was cut off by a sudden cacophony of voices as the door opened fully. Unfortunately, each and every one them was all-too-recognizable.

"-think we should give our dear leader a moment to-" "-surely she'll know we're worried-"" -_this_ _instant_ Zevran or I will-"" -if one more man leers at me in this place I will _set it on fire_-""....This is highly inappropriate."

Just as abruptly, they all died, and Nell lifted her head slowly to peer over the bed towards the door.

Alistair was standing shirtless in front of...everybody. Staring. And they were staring back. Well, all except for Zevran, who had his back turned. It appeared he'd been trying to keep the door from being knocked in.

It was perfectly quiet for a pregnant moment.

Zevran was the first to react. He glanced over his shoulder to find Alistair there and grinned. Lecherously. He then turned his head as his eyes sought Nell's and he lifted a brow in her direction before giving up the protective pretense and sliding out of the way to lean upon the doorjamb.

His motion apparently caused everyone else to snap out of their respective dazes. Leliana's eyes flew back and forth between Alistair and Nell and she let out a girlish squeal. Morrigan crossed her arms and looked quite peevish, and Wynne started to raise and shake a finger.

That was all Nell saw before Alistair, with remarkable poise, simply closed the door in their faces. He turned in Nell's general direction, his eyes glazed with fear and twin spots of color riding high in his cheeks.

"...I believe it's for you."

Nell sighed, raking her hands back through her hair forcefully as Alistair moved at a sleepwalker's pace towards the bed. She threw him her best contemptuous glare towards his back.

Wonderful.

She took a deep breath, summoned all of the arrogance and force of ego that had served her so well among ambitious, shallow, jealous magi contemporaries, and strode to the door, opening it with a flourish.

The same rush of noise, tinged with surprise and annoyance, greeted her. She waited, her eyes roaming over each face until they finally stopped with their outbursts. Leliana was beside herself with giddiness. Sten managed to look more disapproving than usual, and Wynne's face was unreadable -- as though she were trying to work up a lecture, but couldn't quite manage it. Zevran was still lingering at the doorframe; out of all of the them, her senses immediately went to him, but she made the conscious decision _not_ to look and _not_ to think about...

"So! All of this fuss because of you two. Again. I hope he at least had some talent in bed to make it worth all the trouble."

Nell shifted her eyes to Morrigan and hardened her expression. However, the witch was having none of it; if anyone could out-do Nell in imperiousness, it was her contemporary mage. Morrigan merely crossed her arms and shifted her weight. Nell countered by spreading her arms to encompass the opening, palms flat on either side of the jamb.

"_That_ is none of your business. Nor anyone's business. " She stared at each of them in turn, waiting to see if there would be any further interruptions before she spoke. Sensing none, she steeled herself, and tried to summon her most matter-of-fact voice.

"Yes. Alistair and I spent the night here. I apologize for not returning to camp, but I... had a bit much to drink and fell asleep before thinking about it. Alistair came and found me. That is all that needs to be said of it. I have no compunction with feeding the next person that asks about the situation to the darkspawn. Understood?"

She emphasized the point by looking into each person's eyes. So far, so good, although Leliana still looked happy to bursting and Morrigan looked entirely too smug and almost... calculating. Nell narrowed her eyes towards the witch and was rewarded with a lifted brow. _Interesting._ She reminded herself to think about the odd reaction later.

"I instructed Zevran to tell no one of my whereabouts as I wished to be alone." The lie came easily and without hesitation. The last thing that either she or Zevran needed was questions about motivation; especially in his case, where even now trust was given only grudgingly by most of the members of their group. He shifted at her side -- the motion was slight, but she was sensitive to his moods, and it caused an odd prickle on her skin.

"We were just preparing to come back, but it seems you have found us. ...Good. It will save time as we all look for Brother Gentivi. Any questions?" She arched a brow, raking her eyes over each member one last time, save Zevran, some part of her almost _daring_ them to respond. In a way it touched her deeply, that they had all been concerned, but in quite another it riled her temper that they were all seemingly so keen to judge her personal matters, and that they would probably talk amongst themselves and whisper. Her bed was her business; Nell had always valued privacy. It seemed to be quite a rare commodity, lately.

"If you will excuse me, I need to change into something more appropriate. Please wait outside and Alistair and I will join you momentarily." She had managed to keep her voice even and aloof. Hopefully it would be enough for now.

It hurt her to do it, really; pulling rank like this, while it had always come naturally, did not sit well. These were friends as much as followers. However, she would tolerate no questions about the situation, at least when dealing with them as a group; she firmly believed that showing embarrassment, weakness, or vulnerability about her personal situation would only invite dissention among the ranks somehow. It had already happened once, why not again? Dealing with them individually was a different matter, but... sometimes it seemed that the only thing she had was their shared belief in her as a leader, however incomprehensible it might be, to keep them together.

Wynne looked as though it might possibly kill her to _not_ say something wise and insightful; however, she did in fact prove herself quite perceptive, as she was the first one to nod and depart towards the door. Sten followed, glowering and muttering something about women in charge, and Morrigan was soon after, although she still seemed positively _amused_ at one thing or another.

Leliana, who apparently couldn't help herself, flashed a conspiratory, cheeky grin --somehow, it found a chink in Nell's otherwise rigid armor, causing her to avert her eyes. Leliana giggled all-too-knowingly and flounced out, humming.

Then, and only then, did Nell turn towards the dangerous presence lounging to her side.

Zevran appeared entirely casual, leaning as he was. His eyes had been studying her profile, but when she looked, he hooded them, although his lips formed a lazy grin. Nell felt something like a hundred pinpricks in the bottom of her heart.

Things with him were different. Still. She supposed it was foolish to hope otherwise; that the night would cure him of whatever pain she'd somehow managed to cause him. That's what lingered from the last look he'd given her before she'd shut the door. _Hurt_ and vulnerability... a thousand other things. Her feelings roiled uncomfortably and she found herself letting out a long breath.

"Thank you." It was all she had time for, and hopefully she would understand that she was thanking him for more than one thing. Expounding was likely to take a long time and several attempts, especially considering his plea that they _not_ talk about... it. Even though _it_ was fast turning into twenty things that were all complicated. _Because he's not the only one who thought about it..._

He responded by inclining his head smoothly and flicking his eyes towards hers - the contact felt almost like a reward in and of itself. The glance was thoughtful, appreciative, and otherwise guarded. Zevran's smile widened and he pushed himself off of the wall and cast her a lazy salute, purring with a heavily accented and sleepy voice. "I am yours, lady leader."

She managed to curl up the corners of her lips and watched as he sauntered after the rest of the group, calling after Leliana.

Nell exhaled and finally closed the door, turning and slumping against it.

Well, that went well. Sort of. She moved her eyes to find Alistair, who was sitting on the bed and looking much less traumatized, thank the Maker. He'd pulled his shirt and he gestured for her to approach with a wave of his hand.

"I suppose we should be thankful that it's over with?" She lifted a brow towards him, and he smirked. Her stomach settled almost immediately form its Zevran-induced state at the soft sign of his approval, or at least his comfort. It was fast becoming the norm - his mood dictated hers. It was scary and addictive all at the same time.

He put his hand on her hip once it was within reach and left it there as he stood, his thumb sliding over the curve as he studied her face.

"Are you alright? You went all...stiff."

Nell breathed out between pursed lips, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. His hand came up to comb through her hair as it had done last night, and she closed her eyes, letting the sensation calm her.

"I still find it hard to deal with the entire _group_ like that. Fearless leader indeed. They scare me, you know. I feel like any moment they'll realize that I'm horrible at this and they'll mutiny."

The rumble of his chuckle vibrated against her.

"Well, you do get horrible ideas. Like that whole feeding to the darkspawn threat. Very bad, don't do it."

She lifted her head to look towards Alistair, questioning. He grinned down and wiggled his eyebrows towards her - "I am the only one allowed to be fed to the darkspawn. At least I hope so. You haven't been..._feeding_ on anyone else, have you?" He was entirely teasing, not suspicious, although Nell had to close a trap door in her mind to keep from thinking about a certain blonde Antivan. _Nothing happened._

She smirked instead, focusing on Alistair, letting the warmth from his body overtake her guilt and doubt.

"No. But... come to mention it, I'm still hungry."

Her eyes dropped to his lips even as he dipped his head, her heart singing quietly as he melded his lips over her mouth in a gentle, loving kiss. It sapped the rest of her tension and Nell sank against him slowly, feeling gentle ripples ease through all of her muscles. This was _home_.

They pulled away at the same time, smiling towards each other, and left The Pearl together - probably the most satisfied customers Sanga had ever had.


	16. Chapter 16

author: aimorai  
Word count: 2,640

* * *

Why did it have to be _cold_?

On top of Haven being clear on the other side of the country, it had to be in the mountains as well, just as the seasons were starting to turn in the lowlands. Nell found herself wondering how anyone could want to live on a mountain, or run away there, even if it was after the sacred ashes of a prophet.

Ribbons of icy air from the peaks came whistling down into the foothills in answer to her thought.

Curse the mages of the Imperium, may the Fade swallow the entire Empire whole, for making their robes _short_. Nell was in a constant battle to keep her cloak, made of absolutely _charming_ wolf pelt, from swirling around her legs.

Which was, of course, impossible

So she was _cold_. And miserable. Life spent in a tower didn't exactly make for an outdoorsy kind of girl. She longed for the creature comforts to which she'd become accustomed. Bathing tubs. Combs. Perfume. Clean sheets. She was able to grit her teeth and bear it, but she wasn't about to pretend that she enjoyed herself in the wilds, or in the mountains, or....anywhere uncomfortable.

Her eyes squinted against yet another infernal blast of freezing air as she sought the sun - the orb of heat itself was gone, golden light instead illuminating a closer peak in sharp relief. It must be getting on in the day, and they'd yet to even find a suitable place to camp. She heaved out a breath, the warmth from her lungs her crystallizing in the wind. Oh yes. Definitely time to call it a night, before the temperature dipped too low. They needed to get a fire going. She glanced up. There was a wide bend in the trail ahead that tapered downward, perhaps to a valley - she knew everyone else was on ahead of her. She'd thought about speeding up, but her stiff, cold, weary thighs protested quick movement, and Nell was happy to oblige them. Besides, she had a secret weapon.

Phoenix trotted at her heels, happy as a pig in mud -as usual - and she knelt down. The mabari immediately focused upon her, not even a pant or a chuffing sound, and Nell smiled towards him.

"Go get everyone else, boy. "

Phoenix tilted his head intelligently, looking over his shoulder towards the rest of the group, fanned out in front of them, and then turned back to Nell with a snort.

"What, too much work? Did I mention they all have biscuits in their back pockets?"

He appeared more stunned and incredulous than any dog had a right to look, his mouth parting slowly and his tongue working back and forth inside of it. After a moment, Phoenix raced off, making a beeline towards Sten's back. Well. He was bound to have cookies, at least.

Nell chuckled to herself and stood up only to be greeted with a more forceful blast of frigid air careening down the hillside.

"...Maker take all mountains. Hills and peaks, too. If it were up to me, everything would be flat."

"Oh, I think if you were a man you might have a slightly different view of things."

Nell blinked, peering over her shoulder.

"Zev? I didn't know you were...here." She couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice. It was the first time she had even been able to come _near_ the elf in... what, days? Weeks? He was avoiding her. That was the only possible explanation. She'd been trying more doggedly than she'd care to admit to corner him and wring some conversation out of his sweet little neck, but he'd been bent on conversing only in groups, or during scouting and battles.

And now here he was, sneaking up behind her. Covered with a cloak like the rest of their little rag-tag family, he looked like he belonged in the wind and the cold as much as wearing nothing at all and in silk sheets. She hated him for that.

Men.

And this one had that _male_ look that Alistair got sometimes when he was feeling superior...except with Zevran, Nell got the feeling that instead of simply crowing about his obviously advanced gender and intellect, that he would _demonstrate_ it in magnificent, licentious ways...if he could.

"Why such hatred for the glorious bounty of nature, my dear? I happen to be a man who enjoys all shapes and sizes of peaks."

Nell groaned, partly due to his words, and partly due to another blast of wind that caught at tugged at her - cloak, hair, robes. She tried to ignore it but she couldn't help her reactive shiver.

"Maker, Zev, that's not even a _good_ line. If you're going to finally deign to speak with me, at least come up with something more subtle."

"Ah, well. I suppose I am... out of practice. With you." Nell immediately regretted baiting him. She'd hoped to inspire banter or even prick his temper; instead it seemed she'd only reminded him that they were alone and talking, and that he had been patently avoiding both.

"Perhaps I should...go." His stilted way of speaking ripped at Nell's consciousness like nails screeching along a rough surface. What had she _done_ to turn him off from her so?

"No! I mean. Zev." She crossed the few feet in-between them. He stiffened, but at least he didn't run away. "I'm glad you're saying _anything_ to me, really. I've been so wanting to talk with you." She didn't attempt to reign in her words or her tone - she knew she sounded pleading, but she didn't care.

Zev appeared to suddenly be fascinated with her hair, or her ear, or her shoulder - he looked anywhere but her eyes as he responded. "Well... here I am. What is so important?"

"_You_ are, Zev." She worried her teeth at her lower lip, trying to come up with the right words. "Do you know how much I've missed you? You're the only person around here I was ever able to talk to without having to think about choosing my words wisely. Even... Alistair, I can't..." She trailed off. No. That was probably _not_ the right thing to say.

He looked incredulous, and his eyes flashed towards hers. They were odd; he appeared almost angered at the statement, but he kept his tongue. She wanted to _shake_ him. _Say something!_ Nell clutched at her cloak in lieu of the urge to grab him, bodily.

"I... don't know what I did wrong exactly, but it's weighing on me. I want things to be _right_ between us."

Nell was doggedly determined not to mention _it. _Their attraction. If that's... exactly what _it_ was. Even now, when she was blessedly less conscious of him than usual, her skin prickled and she was hyper-aware of his grace - even when standing still, the man appeared absolutely _nubile_. It wasn't a word she would normally use to describe someone masculine - because he was also that - but there was nothing better.

It was more than just...attraction, though. Simple temptation she felt she could handle, and him, too. It wasn't like she'd never been drawn to a man before, and Zevran had quite possibly written the book on each and every nuance of that particular arena. The _rest_ of it was what was so confounding, and she didn't know whether it came from her, or him, or both. There was crackling tension that both was and wasn't sexual. It was primal; the emotions Zevran conjured pricked right at her center without bothering to stop at her mind for thoughtful consideration.

_It_ wasn't at all like what had happened with Alistair. That had been slow and warm, steady and soothing, working from the inside out and taking every stop along the way to dally. She'd been able to recognize it, analyze it, fight with it, and ultimately give in to it.

With Zevran, she felt like skin and heart; sinew and soul. _It_ was nonsense, and _it_ infuriated her.

Above all, though, she felt like _it_ was hurting him, and that she'd somehow started the whole thing. She could deal with her own discomfort, but Nell wouldn't abide causing pain in those she cared about.

"...Please say something, Zev. Tell me what I did wrong."

Silence had stretched between them, marred by the occasional barking of her mabari and shouts from up ahead. They weren't exactly in private, but she wanted to seize the opportunity that he'd unwittingly given her. Zevran's eyes grew slightly rounder and he jerked out of his defensive stance, stepping forward and closing the half-foot gap between them. Their bodies weren't touching, but only just.

His tension snaked forward and wreathed around Nell's consciousness, just as his hands lifted to grip around her forearms. Hard. She didn't know if he was trying to prevent touch or if his mental groping for an explanation had led to an _actual _need to find a physical grasp. There was a lot, in fact, that she didn't know about Zev; his thought process especially.

His voice lowered, a harsh, throaty purr. She found herself finally grateful for the wind; it carried the low syllables to her in the midst of a powerful gust that nearly stole her breath.

"You think... that I have wanted to be rid of your presence... because you did something _wrong_?"

"Didn't I?" Nell found herself whispering too. He was finally looking at her, _straight_ into her eyes, and she was worried about breaking that gaze more than anything else. His expression revealed... confusion. He was disbelieving about something; what, she had no idea. He was also struggling through some less-neutral emotions. There was that pain dancing in the back that she'd seen before, and also... worry? ...Compassion? The thought that _he_ would feel compassion for _her_ was almost ludicrous. What could she have done to deserve it? She felt her brows drawing together.

All of this talking was making her _more_ confused than when they'd started out.

"No." His mouth slid so sensually around the word that shivered for reasons very much different than the cold. "...Quite the contrary, my dear." Zevran's voice had taken on a quiet, soft tenor that she'd not heard before, and she found herself daring to hope that she might be getting somewhere with him. His hands moved to slide up her arms to her shoulders and he opened his mouth as if to say more. She held her breath.

And then, something snapped. He was thoughtful, on the brink, and then... it was like a window closed on his face. He was wiped clean, stamped with his mask, and his hands dropped from her, leaving only warm shadows.

"We should not... speak of this. Know only that you have done nothing wrong. I am well." He grinned, too widely, showing his eyeteeth, and tilted his head forward towards the rest of the group.

The motion ripped her back to the reality that the barking of her hound was nearly on top of them. As soon as she registered this, the rest of the group came back around the corner, and Nell whipped her head around to look at them. She frowned, and then looked back.

Zevran was not there.

_Bastard assassin_. She thought it, there was no bite to the words. Her heart wrenched. Had she possibly made things _worse_?

"Time for camp?"

Alistair's cheery voice drew her eyes back towards the rest of her companions. They were flushed and weary, but appeared otherwise well. Alistair especially. He _liked_ all this traveling and mucking about, despite his whining about armor and blood and food. It was there in the twinkle of his eyes when they were making good time. Or, perhaps he was happy that they were on track to help Arl Eamon once again.

She nodded, trying to find her voice. "The sun is almost down if you hadn't noticed. How was that valley that you came from?"

"Out of this wind, that's for sure." Leliana's bird-like voice warbled so effervescently that it was hard not to catch her good mood, just a little. "There was even some game. I saw it. We could make some lovely stew or roast some meat..."

"...Good. Well. Leliana. Find Zevran." Her voice nearly caught on the name. "I don't know where he's off to, but you should see about dinner. The rest of us will pitch tents and make a fire. I think we should all warm up tonight too, so... baths for everyone!"

Morrigan cheered sarcastically and waved her arms around. "Oh! So exciting! Perhaps we could _wash_ _our clothes_, too, if we're very very good?"

Nell glanced towards Morrigan witheringly, her voice snapping. "The rest of us are making the best of this. Help, won't you?"

They dispersed easily enough, following instructions. Nell shook herself, trying to rid lingering effects of her conversation with Zevran. He had to make everything difficult, didn't he? She blew out a long breath and tried to distract herself, making a mental list of things that needed to be done in order. The bath would help, too. Alistair fell in beside Nell and he was so _warm_ and she couldn't help but smile, lifting a brow towards him. "Yes?"

"You mentioned something about _baths_."

"I did. We all smell. Even me, despite your protests that I am some kind of perennial rose. The wind was fierce today and I need to warm up. I suppose everyone else deserves a turn, too."

He dipped his head towards her ear, his breath tickling along the skin. His voice was somehow both sheepish and expectant - like a schoolboy asking for permission to peep. "Perhaps we could share?"

Raw anticipation surged within Nell. They hadn't been together for days, each feeling like a lifetime. She'd been tired; he'd been sore. They shared a tent, but normally one was asleep by the time the other joined. Such was the way of it. A voice at the back of her mind whispered that her want wasn't _entirely_ due to Alistair, but she swatted it away; whatever happened, she was determined _he_ would be the beneficiary of her lust.

Because Alistair, whatever his faults, deserved it.

For the umpteenth time, she hated his armor. Nell wanted nothing more than to slide her hands and her body against him, to whisper all the things she was already thinking they could do in warm, watery privacy. Instead, she satisfied herself with a grin and a lazily lifted brow in his direction.

There would be time to ravish him later.

Alistair made a rumbling sound between a purr and a chuckle and set off to chop wood while there was still daylight, and Nell set herself to unrolling canvas for tents, and unpacking pots for dinner. As usual, the slightest interaction with her dashing knight made her feel so much calmer, at peace. She even started to wonder why she bothered with Zevran - maybe it was enough that he helped, that she had his loyalty. Maybe it was enough to simply let him be.

She looked up at one point and saw a blonde head following after Leliana into the woods. Zevran paused, looking back at her for a very long moment.

Nell returned the gaze. It was like they were standing right next to each other, but also separated by a sea.

She could discern nothing from his eyes except a penetrating, keening _something_ that was laced with pain, guilt, and hesitation. Her heart was assailed by needles at the sight. She tried to plead with him with her expression, but he was gone before she could summon the proper emotion to transmit.

No. Shesimply _couldn't_ let it lie.

Because Zevran deserved better, too.


	17. Chapter 17

author: aimorai  
Word count: 4,255

Author's Note: Back from writing hiatus! I hope everyone enjoys the next chapter, and yes, I _do_ intend on finishing this (long) fiction! Thank you for all of the encouraging private messages and e-mails I've received; they are the reason I took this writing back up.

Nell's hatred of mountains had become firmly entrenched by the time they had actually reached the last-known whereabouts of Brother Gentivi – a village called Haven. They'd had an annoyingly difficult time even finding the place. It wasn't marked on any map that was available, and they'd had to follow rough notes in Brother Gentivi's writings in order to even discern a proper bearing. Supplies were running very low and everyone was starting to snipe at each other; particularly Morrigan and Leliana, who had never much gotten along. There were any number of personal crises as they made their way higher into the Frostbacks, and Nell found herself suddenly more concerned with whether or not Leliana had _actually meant_ to throw her discarded rabbit bone onto Morrigan's plate than the Blight itself.

It was continuing on, even now, as they climbed up a steep and winding path towards the gates on the horizon. The cold was a constant companion, and they'd even spent some nights camping in random snow squalls that were insulated between mountains. Nell was tired, dirty, and her temper was starting to spiral and shorten; the tones of the women behind her grated at her resolve as much as nails scratching along a chalkboard.

"All I am saying, Morrigan, is that perhaps if you spoke to more Sisters and Brothers in the Chantry, you might find that there are many views of the Maker even within those communities. Telling me I am like any other Sister is like me telling you that you are…just like your mother, perhaps. Both Witches of the Wild, but different people."

"You know nothing of me or of Mother. 'Tis a blatant exaggeration to say that you would be able to speak to either of us under any circumstances but these." Morrigan's tones were clipped and frayed.

"Well, perhaps you should take the opportunity to learn more about the Maker than merely one opinion -" Leliana continued, effortlessly stubborn; the priestess was infused with faith – and armor that Morrigan's never-ending logic couldn't chink.

"-Perhaps you should stop talking now." Morrigan was done, her mocking words cutting off whatever argument Leliana was about to form. Her tone had a threat to it, and Nell found herself turning around to look at the two women.

"Stop!" Her yell was a whiplash, bounding back from the rocks.

"Is it not enough," Nell started, "That we have to deal with mountains, cold, a lack of food, and the thin air?" She glanced back and forth. Leliana had the good grace to look chastised; Morrigan merely looked annoyed, and perhaps slightly relieved that Leliana had been forced to stop speaking. "We have been arguing about bones in stews, suddenly-misplaced arrows, dirty looks across a campfire, and whether or not Phoenix is smellier yesterday or today." Nell actually stamped a boot into the snowy earth beneath her and turned her head to take in the rest of the group. Sten was a statue of impassivity, and Alistair was merely watching – he tossed her a quick, weary smile. Zevran and Wynne had been absorbed in conversation farther in the back and were only now making their way to the scene. "In case any of you have forgotten, there is a Blight about. We are only here, in this place, because if we do not find this Brother Gentivi, or these ashes, Arl Eamon will die. If Arl Eamon dies, it will be difficult to rally an Army to fight, and then _everybody_ dies. I don't want to be here either, and frankly, I'm sick of looking at half of you, but it'd be a damn sight better for all of us if we could all remember the larger picture." She let out a breath through her nose, the air cold enough to actually make twin trails of wispy smoke in its wake.

"So… shut up, and get your heads aligned properly."

Sten grunted a noise of approval that actually made Nell grateful for the man's presence, and she nodded at him, which he returned, for once. She decided he'd make a much _quieter_ walking partner for the remainder of the journey to the upcoming village, and they all resumed their trek with only Zevran's voice interrupting from the back now and again. Nell was immediately both amused and annoyed with the elf – he'd never been overly impressed with her speeches or displays of leadership, why should now be any different? His insouciance was almost a boon, however. It reminded her that _some_ things never changed. Even if almost everything else between them had.

When they approached the gates of the village Nell only hoped that she could maintain her Fearless Leader persona. There was a lone guard at his station, and he did not look friendly, even from afar. In fact, the entire village exuded a _Keep Out_ vibe that Nell simply wanted to obey. She was so tired. Her eyes glanced over the high wooden walls, and the thick gate, wondering the best course would be in order to gain access into this foreboding place.

"Ah, quiet insular communities. There's always something nasty going on behind closed doors. I hope it involves chains. …I hope they ask me to join in."

Zevran's voice approached behind Nell and her lips twitched despite themselves. He'd been so distant, but whenever he spoke he'd been even more suggestive than usual around her; he'd taken to acting in extremes – either he was silent, or he was trying to make her uncomfortably sexual in speech.

"Maybe you should be the one to ask if they'll let us in then, Zev." She answered the elf quietly, not realizing she'd taken on a low, warm tone until she saw Alistair come up behind them, the faintest glimmer of confusion moving over his features as he glanced towards Nell. She shook her head at him and then smiled, pointedly moving away from Zevran's side towards his.

That did the trick; Alistair's face melted from quietly tense lines into softer ones, the inner glow in his eyes from her mere presence something that Nell found quietly comforting. Her mood was still bad, but things with Alistair were good. Better than good.

Wynne joined them from behind, her age showing only in the pace of her breathing as compared to the younger members of the group. Zevran immediately went further away and to the old mage's side, speaking lowly in her ear; idly, Nell wondered what on Thedas they could be speaking about. Zevran had sought Wynne's company for days. At first, Nell had told herself that it may have simply been compassion for the woman on the elf's part. Zev enjoyed teasing Wynne, but there was an affection to their banter that belied, perhaps, respect or at least innate liking on his part. Wynne was more reluctant, but never once had turned down his company.

She resolved to ask Wynne about it later.

Brother Gentivi. Ashes. Blight. Nell let out a breath and started to walk up towards the guard, giving him her best – if weary – smile.

He'd let them in to shop. Well, it was a start. After all, maybe Brother Gentivi had a fondness for some kind of rare mountain stew made from eagle's claws and wolf hearts. Stranger things had happened, especially in little mountain enclaves such as these.

Alistair, Zevran, and Wynne were accompanying her; it was becoming quite the usual group. Wynne's healing had gotten them out of many difficult situations, and the fighting ability of Alistair and Zevran was second to none with blades; the men might not be fond of each other personally, but they worked together supremely well, ending lives with dazzling flashes of swords and daggers, thrusts and parries. There was something visceral and manly to Nell about the slaying of men with edged weapons; her powers as a mage were fearsome, but there was always something detached about the kill. She believed Zevran when he said there was certain exhilaration to it; Alistair had never deigned to comment on the taking of life.

"Well…" Nell breathed out, brushing some hair from her eyes.

You could have heard a pin drop and echo off the mountain throughout the entire town.

"It's quiet. Really, really quiet." Alistair, as usual, made the obvious comment, and Nell leaned momentarily into his side.

"Mm. I guess…we start at the shop, yes?"

Alistair nodded with the gentlest of smiles touching his lips, gesturing to his side. "We could actually use some supplies as well. I'll shop; wait until I'm done before asking anything. I'd hate to lose a deal because someone gets annoyed with the nosy outsider. Maybe see if you can find anyone else?"

Nell grinned up at his look; despite the fact that he was a big, imposing warrior, Alistair actually did most of the shopping for their team. Nell found him to be frugal and practical with supplies, anticipating future needs. He was also rather jovial with shopkeepers and tended to get money off simply by being amusing, or perhaps bluffing more stupidity than he had.

"Alright." Nell nodded, and Wynne walked up to take Alistair's arm, which he crooked as though he were the most proud escort in all of Thedas.

"I'll help you with any herbs, my dear."

"As long as you don't tease me anymore about where my eyes are looking…"

The pair of them wandered off and Nell chuckled, wrapping her arms around her midsection as she looked around the otherwise-abandoned town. It was inherently creepy; buildings were meant to be lived in. She thought she saw a child playing off in the square…by himself? …_But where was everyone else?_

Nell's eyes roved upwards, to a large path that seemed to lead towards the summit of the mountain. No matter where she looked, her gaze was drawn back to that peak, and the sensation of dread started to curl in her stomach.

They were going to have to go up there. She knew it as surely as she'd known anything in her life. The dead-quiet of the town seemed to have a life-force of its own and indicated for them to travel onwards – even the mist rolling through the chilly, damp air seemed to roll on towards the ominous path. Nell furrowed her brow, looking around again.

And then she noticed an ever-so-slightly ajar door off to her left.

…And where, oh where, was the Antivan rogue?

Annoyance bit. It was a fine time for Zevran to go pilfering through houses. She'd seen him do it – even encouraged him before – but the hostile welcome should have been an easy indication that _now_ was not the time. _Maker_. The last thing they needed was accusations of thievery; the obvious distaste for outsiders in this village would make them guilty by default should something go missing.

Nell stalked towards the open house, which was nestled in a corner just behind the gate, its back towards the side of the mountain – having a rock-face on two sides of the house probably gave the owners a feeling of security. Nell was certain she'd feel the same. Much, much better than living near the cliff on the other side.

"Zev!" Nell hissed under her breath. There were no lights on; like every other house in the square, it was deserted. "This is _no time_." There was another open door leading towards a back room; low candlelight danced behind the warped wood, casting strangely dancing shadows. Nell stalked forward even though her stomach dropped with a queer chilly feeling. She put her head around the door,

"Zevra-"

Nell stopped cold.

The elf was indeed there; red and orange candlelight flickered on his golden skin. No one else on Thedas could probably look so at home in that dark, imposing light. There were many sides to Zevran, and as he stood there, the light in the room appealed to the dangerous planes of his body, the deft cut of his muscles – not bulky but streamlined. He was beautiful, but very much looked the assassin in that moment. It made her shiver to see him standing there; this time, not with arousal.

The effect may have also had something to do with the environs.

An altar. Blood. _Fresh_ blood, from the coppery tang in the air. There were human bones, too – she could tell from the presence of a skull – and…some sort of …devices. Her mind conjured up images of torture; racks for pulling bones and skin, needles dipped to withdraw blood. Nell's breath caught audibly, and Zevran turned to look at her.

He was tense. Every muscle on his body corded with suppressed rage, and perhaps fear. He spoke, his quiet accent laced with shadow and pain.

"This reminds me of the Crows. I told you, how they… used to train us. The pain, they had to let us know their punishment…it was the only thing to be feared. That our life was to the Crows, yes?" Zevran's eyes lifted to Nell's momentarily, and then went back to the scene of blood. "Sometimes it looked like this, afterwards. I was just thinking about that."

He tried, valiantly, to sound cavalier. He even shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes were riveted on the dried blood on the walls, the various instruments strewn carelessly around the room as if they were so much garbage. She imagined him then – younger, a child, strapped to some machine – his gorgeous limbs being pulled, the way his throat would have strangled in pain…

Nell let out a soft sigh and came into the room, eyes fixated on the tension in the assassin's shoulders.

"Zev…" She spoke very quietly, reaching out a hand to curl around his bicep. She tried to pull him, make him look at her.

He pulled his arm away as though shocked; taking a few slow steps backwards and away from her, gesturing lazily with one hand. "I am fine." His eyes roved the wall. "I was just thinking that it is a very primal decorating scheme, yes? Powerful, even somehow sexual, all the blood and devices -"

Nell cut off the flip, droll speech by making a frustrated sound in her throat. "Zev." She stared at the elf and then stepped forward, wrapping her arms firmly around his ribs, underneath his arms. It was a fierce embrace; not even tender – Nell had to tighten her muscles due to the fear that he would pull away from her, not let himself be comforted.

Zevran did struggle, momentarily, and she had to flex, squeezing her eyes shut as their bodies and wills clashed. He took one step backwards and found the wall; Nell took the advantage of his lost momentum and let out a breath, forcing her arms to ease around the elf. It was a _hug_, not an attack, Nell didn't want to force an emotional connection with an elf who was backpedaling away from their friendship – _or perhaps she did?_. She had to chase him with kindness; Zevran's ability to avoid was not only in his muscles but in his mind, his demeanor, his very heart.

She felt Zev's arms twitch once…twice, three times, and then he made a strange sound; it was a sort of strained sigh, at once resigned to indulge her in the connection and tense with emotion, bitten-back through sheer force of will. He could have done anything; Nell was half-expecting him to grab her backside, or slide his arms sinuously. Perhaps pinch her, or otherwise hurt her, make her let go. But instead, one arm lowered to lightly perch on her hip, and the other wound up her back, elbow at her waist, his palm resting over her shoulders with his fingers splayed across the flexed blades. He squeezed, just once.

"I'm sorry, Zev. That must have been terrible for you." Relief and commiseration were alive in her voice, she knew.

"I am fine…"

"No, you're _not_ fine-"

"Mm, perhaps you are right – I did not realize concern would let me so _close_, my dear…In that case, I am terribly distraught." His voice purred, directly next to her ear, and Nell was forced to snap her head back as reaction lashed down her spine. She realized in that moment that she and Zevran were exactly the same height.

"Don't play, Zev."

"Oh," Zevran clucked his tongue in mock disappointment. "But I am _very _good at games." He whispered his thumb over the fabric at her hip. Nell was forced to ignore it; it would be too easy to give in and let him go. She _knew_ he was playing on the angle of discomfort, of igniting the attraction between them to force her to withdraw, keep her integrity intact. Prevent even the possibility of hurting Alistair.

"That's just the point." Her voice was barely a whisper. She hadn't backed off an inch, still holding him, half in fear that Zevran would turn tail and run again. "You _are_ very good at pretending, Zev. But I'm really not in the mood for that anymore. If I have done everything right by you, why this…" She searched for the word, roaming his features. "Attitude, you've got? I can't talk to you anymore. It's either…suggestion, or nothing. There is nothing _real_, you – this…telling me about the Crows is the _first thing_ in weeks where I've had you back with me. _Really _you. So I'm not letting go until you tell me."

His face had gone from an expression of amused sensuality to something curiously blank, and then thoughtful. Zevran's head tilted to the side as Nell spoke. She felt his fingers leave the bone of her hip through the cloak and thick clothes she wore to ward off the cold, and the hand between her shoulderblades lowered to her waist.

When Zev finally deigned to speak, his voice was hushed, but powerful – his accented words carefully chosen.

"Alright, my dear. No playing, as the lady requests, yes? Honesty?" Zevran's free hand lifted to capture Nell's chin with forefinger and thumb, curling gently under the soft skin. Her eyes widened, and her head felt trapped, even though the touch was featherlight. She managed a nod.

"Honestly, then…I find it curious, fearless leader, that your first concern upon seeing a room full of blood, torture and sacrifice was the possibility of soothing my poor, fragile nature." He lifted a corner of his mouth, and Nell froze. _Bastard assassin_. "After you have chided all of us so about keeping our heads on this mission, the terrible Blight, and so on. Seeing all of this indicates that there is more here that meets the eye, yes? This might be the blood of the famous Brother Gentivi painting the walls. Now why _is_ it, I wonder to myself…that my brave leader would deign to care more about me than that, hmn?"

His forefinger stroked beneath Nell's chin very subtly, a back-and-forth that seemed to demand most of her attention. The fact that Zevran was _mocking_ her was secondary to the fact that he was, completely and totally, correct. She hadn't given a thought to the wider implications of the room or what it might mean. The creepy town, blood on the walls. Something deeper going on.

It was obviously urgent.

But so was the boiling in her blood.

Zevran's eyes were fixated upon his grip on her face, and Nell's voice quivered.

"You're right." She swallowed, and Zevran slowly smiled. It occurred to Nell that the teasing was a way of avoiding the question – of making her answer something rather than having to admit to anything himself. She would not. "We should go tell the others."

"We should." Zevran purred, and now the hand at her waist was moving, sliding back and forth subtly, and _Oh Maker_…her eyes were dropping to his mouth. _No_. _Alistair_.

"If you're not going to answer my question, let me go." Nell made no move at all. Her legs were melded to the spot.

"_You_ captured _me_, my dear." Zevran's voice had a laugh, but it was still serious, low. It almost seemed less accented to her; a hot breath she could feel on her cheeks and lips. "And if you answer my question, I will answer yours."

"No." Nell swallowed.

"Hmm. I think perhaps you do not want to answer my question because…it is too hard to explain?"

"…Yes."

"So is your question." His eyes abruptly shifted up; Nell could feel the change in his gaze and her eyes also lifted, to stare into the concentrated amber-gold of a dangerous Antivan. "But, to be fair, I think I already know the answer to mine."

His voice shifted to a dangerously low octave and his mouth came forward. Nell parted her lips to retort, but there _was_, really, nothing to say, and all that came out was a half-caught breath.

Zevran's kiss was nothing like Alistair's. His mouth was liquid silk – mobile, soft, supple, and extremely confident. And _competent_. The educated kiss glided around Nell's lower lip with a light, unexpectedly soft touch; his lips sealed, pressed, and drew back as he exhaled, his free hand settling on the side of her ribs with a gentle squeeze. The caress was coy flirtation and temptation incarnate. Unlike Alistair, who kissed with raw emotion, Zevran's touch screamed of technique and pleasure – it was perfectly beguiling, but his heart was carefully sealed away from his body. Nell's lips opened to breathe, and Zevran coasted, kissing over her upper lip in much the same way as before, though at the end of the sealed kiss he pulled back, beckoning a return.

Nell's head tipped forward after his retreating lips, traitorous mouth murmuring gently into his breath. She kissed him harder than he had; Nell was experienced, but not such a master of technique. She couldn't hide her emotions as well as the assassin, and her heart was slicing open with them.

She knew her confusion was in her kiss, as well as reluctance; the giving in to an untempered, flaring attraction she'd been denying for weeks. She knew _it_ was there in the way her fingers clenched and her lips roved forcefully. And even as she kissed him, she knew it was wrong; she hated him for tempting her, and there was anger too, a hot flash that warmed her neck. Her kiss was an assault of frustration, lust, and something else bigger than the two.

She must have surprised him. Something about Zevran's demeanor suggested he'd expected a slap rather than return fire. His spine stiffened poker-straight under the harsh press of Nell's mouth. His fingers clenched hard on her chin and, for a moment, pushed back and away before he made an odd, strangled sound.

His fingers moved from her face to her hair, where he seized hard - clenching. He pressed back into her, and his mouth was brutal, giving no quarter from teeth, tongue, and lips. There was no small amount of anger in his kiss too; his biceps and thighs clenched, and he forcefully hauled her close. Zev squeezed until her ribs hurt.

Hot, so hot. They burned. Nell choked from the force of the sudden passion; the squeeze making her lose her breath. Her teeth closed hard on Zevran's lower lip – no love bite. He growled, but his hips pushed closer, and then Nell suddenly pushed away, her hands balled into fists at her side as she was flooded with sudden awareness.

_No. Maker, what am I doing?_

She took three steps away from Zevran's body, her hands closing defensively around her middle. Zevran stared, breathing as hard as she was. She could _see_ his anger and annoyance now, rising in his neck. Just as hers was. Nell didn't even know _what_ she was angry about. It was too complex, caught up in ten other emotions.

"You – " Zev started, and then licked at the bite on his lower lip. It was glistening – Nell had drawn blood. She stared at it in amazement. Zevran seemed to force himself to lean back on the wall, agitation in every aspect of his demeanor. "Well, my dear…Nell." She shuddered. Her name on his lips was almost an epithet. Sexual and dangerous. "You certainly _did_ answer that question."

She felt her face redden, and Nell advanced across the room, lifting her hand in a resounding slap against the Antivan's cheek. Humiliatingly, she saw that he guessed the move before she even struck – his eyes watched her hand – and did nothing to stop it. He just took the hit, simply turning his head to the side to absorb the force.

"Do not do that again." Her voice, which she had wanted to sound full of conviction, managed to sound pathetic – full of wounded pride and vulnerability, the notes shaking out of her throat.

"Mm." Zevran lifted a lazy hand to his pink cheek. "So much for no longer playing games, then, fearless leader. You win. Consider honesty done." He sketched her a bow, pure grace, and then turned to leave the room. His eyes did not find hers again, and his legs were full of tension as he left.

_Wonderful_.

Nell cried out in frustration in the middle of a room containing a blood altar. Not for the Blight, nor Brother Gentivi. Not for Thedas, the Circle, or any beautiful thing she'd seen in her travels.

She cried out for her heart, and those that she seemed to break. Alistair _could not_ know. Never.

Love by its very nature was, after all, selfish.


	18. Chapter 18

Author: aimorai

Word Count: 2,375

A/N:

POV switch again, back into Zevran's head. Some allusions to Zevran's backstory present the chapter may not make sense if you are unaware of Rinna, and what had happened to him before he attacked the Warden on the road. However, not knowing should (hopefully) not prevent you from understanding his mindset, at least. As always, comments and criticisms are always welcome.

Some parts of this chapter are NSFW

Zevran could not remember the last time his defenses had been so worn down. The last time he'd been so openly _angry_. Or _hurt_.

Well…no, that was not true. He could – it was really not so long ago - but he did not _want_ to remember. The space in his chest that had yawned open wide before he'd met the Warden was threatening to crack again, to collapse over the careful resolve he'd been rebuilding. A poem that had repeated endlessly in his mind was starting to whisper, the simple, rhyming rhythm guiding his steps away from the cursed house in Haven.

A month ago, he might have thought of simply hurtling himself over the cliff. Even now, the possibility of doing so made itself known as he looked down the craggy mountain, dotted with hardy trees that mocked him with their ability to hold on so tightly to their purchase.

Regaining the will to _live_, after all, was a slow process compared to the sharp, quick and certain decision that he'd made to die. Though he'd ruined that chance, too.

He, and the Warden, and the Crows.

At first, everything had been foggy - of course, that may have had something to do with the blow to his head delivered by Alistair, but…really, it had seemed that even his prideful plan to die gloriously fighting a Warden had failed. When his eyes opened to life – to a stubbornly beating heart and breathing lungs – he had been quick enough to come to the conclusion that his very existence was still – as ever – in outside hands. That he'd been clumsy in holding it, unsure how to give it direction. Ultimately, he'd dropped it.

The Warden, on the other hand…she'd shown very quickly that her (beautiful, lovely…) hands were perhaps getting used to the idea of holding life and death; that his survival was merely a matter of consideration for her. A conclusion reached after a logical series of questions.

She'd been gorgeous from the start, of course, and her steely-eyed and detached manner of asking for information had told him volumes about her leadership abilities. He could do worse than be at the whims of such a deadly goddess, and he'd told her as much. No reason not to press a possible sexual advantage and no reason to lie about it.

He'd surmised, quickly, that there had been but two options. He could pledge his oath, and simply leave at the first opportunity. However, the Crows would find him eventually, and at that time he would run out of options. Death or death, as it were. Or, he could pledge his oath and decide later whether or not he was lying about it while under her protection – perhaps come up with Option C after he'd been tended to by her distractingly gorgeous hands.

The second thought allowed for possible life and the ability to think. To even plan his own death again, if he decided he did indeed wish it. Thus, there was no compunction in the words he'd sworn to be the Warden's man. Her _mercy_ had been surprising but only something to be used to his advantage.

He'd only questioned the wisdom of the course later.

Zevran's original reason for joining with the little group she'd gathered about herself had been strictly practical. She provided protection, distraction, food, supplies, healing, and a built-in means of moving about, giving him time to put distance and puzzling travel patterns between himself and any Crow pursuers. Also, she was beautiful, and even the possibility of a bed warmed by her skin had been tempting.

He had _assumed_ that her reasons had been likewise logical – he _did_ have fighting skills, of course, and to be perfectly honest his Warden had seemed a bit…desperate for sympathetic companionship. She had her Alistair of course – lapping at her heels, as it were – but all of the others around her were, at best, misfits. Outsiders, perhaps not so different than he in that regard, that were latching onto her for a sense of guidance, forgiveness, or some other esoteric reason beyond the Blight.

All that bound them was _her_. He could not fathom why, for any other reason except for the mantle of responsibility that she bore well. Weak, broken people flocked to leader-types after all. Himself included, of course.

Then, they'd started to _talk_.

She'd asked him questions about his past, about Antiva – questions he could not slide by with a quick flick of his head, a sly little grin. Questions about leather, boots, and gloves. Questions about his nature as an assassin. She hadn't flinched at all when he told her honestly that he enjoyed his trade. He'd found her wit to be quick and her laughter to tickle beneath his navel like the pleasant fuzz of a bubbly drink.

He saw that she asked the others questions, too. How, within one body and one mind, there was a person who could seduce a templar and laugh with a witch; who could calm the chattering, distracted nature of the bard's musings and yet trade meaningful, sparse words with a qunari warrior.

She was a killer, someone who could destroy without compunction – she was also someone who would twist the Fade itself to save a little mage boy from the ignorance of his own mother. Someone who remembered an offhand comment about his mother's gloves.

He started to understand why the others followed the woman, even at great personal sacrifice.

Her _mercy_. Which, at some point, had become like a cruel joke to him.

Rinna had made him want to die. His Warden was making him want to live.

And he _hated_ her for it. It was not fair. He had come to faintly hope that a new life would mean new freedom, but each day spent watching her gave him the vague, unsettling notion that the life he was living now, one day at a time, could lead him to something that would bind him in an entirely different way. Soft, delicate tendrils holding him to her beyond any oath he'd given in blindness.

Whether he wanted them or not. Whether _she_ wanted them or not.

It was beyond lust; mere lust he could understand. It was a familiar fire with which he could dance – Zevran knew every nuance of that flame, how to catch and bend the light and shadow. How revel in the heat, and then douse the flames without remorse.

Lust he could have assuaged in that small, blood-covered room. The invitation in her body had been flagrantly clear. She had fought it, perhaps, but ultimately had failed within moments. It had burst forward roughly against him. Attraction between the two of them had wound tight over the days; he'd enjoyed plucking at her strings, playing her like a harp. Watching when awareness of his proximity, or breath, or tone, flared across her neck and collar. Even if she valiantly ignored it, heat was heat; some bodies simply spoke to each other whether or not their owners wished for it. His blood had risen to boiling as hers had - _that_ part he understood.

He could have… shifted her, rounded her body into the wall. Prevented her from running away from the moment. Used the hard surface for leverage, shifted her knees around his hips. Tucked up her cloak and those wickedly sinful little robes of hers. He wanted to feel her bare thighs clenching around him, yes. They would be soft and pale, reflecting the orange glow of the candle, untouched by the sun. He wanted very much to feel her beautiful, shapely fingers tug him from his leathers, free him. He wanted to hear her murmur of want and then bury himself, spear her with no hesitation. To watch the firelight on her throat, quivering and tight with the need for silence. To feel her hands fist in his hair, hear the prayer of his name on her lips. To make her ultimately lose that quiet control of hers and cry more loudly than she had fumbling in her tent with her inexperienced knight. To rid himself of the painful need to feel her and _fulfill_ her.

Just the thought of it made Zevran utter a loose string of Antivan curses, rough from the hollow of his throat.

Yes, _that_ was lust. And it would always be there. But lust was not the half of it with his Warden, and lust was _not_ why he had kissed her. Such thoughts had come only as an aftermath – from her response to his lips.

He had kissed her because of her damnable mercy. Her _kindness_.

Because she did _not_ want to give in to lust. Because she'd decided to be his friend. She considered it worth her time. Because she was _patient_ with Alistair, _tolerant_ of Morrigan, _respectful _of Sten…

He had tried to use that soft tendency of hers as a weapon, even, to prevent the entire encounter, but her body in his arms, the shame that had been behind her eyes as he'd mocked her – he'd felt _guilt_; real, pervading guilt, and the deeper urge to soothe it had clawed to take a hold.

Teasing her because her face had softened even after his rough attempts at pushing her away, and because she had said she was_ sorry_ and _how horrible_ and _I miss you, Zevran_ had felt, for once, stupid.

He'd wanted to stop her mouth from speaking any more, from saying something that would render him even more helpless and confused, something to remind him of why he _must not_ be near her. Perhaps she did not realize how hesitant he'd been – the softness of his invitation, that it was…the most vulnerable kiss of his life. He couldn't let her feel his heart, but the beat of it had pounded behind his eyes, and it was all he could do to be tender. To let her see only _that_ much.

He'd thought of the Warden, once, only as the means of his death. Now she was becoming the death of him in a much more sinister way.

Because the knife that she'd stabbed to his breastbone when she'd hardened, when she'd driven it to lust, remained lodged; it was a deep, radiating pain that felt like potent poison and sounded like Rinna crying. She _hated_ their connection; hated their lust. He could taste the vitriol on her lips as much as he'd tasted her desperation. Had she possibly known what more it was to him (_what was it, Zevran?_), her hatred might have coalesced further, and he knew his would have- driven by the raw anger he felt at the _shallowness _of it all on her end. That she hadn't known, didn't guess or assume that he wanted…something more. And wasn't that a laugh, for the bastard son of a dead whore, an assassin, to know anything about _depth_…

Well.

Perhaps that was the only course of it now. Hatred.

He wanted to cut every tendril of doubtful feeling that drew him inexplicably to her and leave her to her ever-loving Alistair. But there was hatred at the thought of that, of the _knight_; hate that was so strong as to be something else, something more sinister…something to do with Rinna, crying – and him laughing -

His thoughts were interrupted harshly by a clear bell of a voice behind him.

"Zevran, there you- oh, what happened to your lip?" It was Wynne, who without his permission reached out with a gentle healing spell, easing the rough, rubbing pain of Nell's anger from his mouth.

"Ah, Wynne." He shifted his shoulders; an invisible cloak fell into place. "I was so anxious to see you again, I must have worried my lip bloody." He leered at the elder mage, who made a long-suffering sigh.

"Nell is looking for you."

"Mm, but who would want the younger mage when I have the more _experienced_ version here…alone."

"This… conversation is not going to happen again."

"Ah, my dear lady, so coy. Or perhaps you have decided it is finally time to move…_beyond_ words, as they say?" Zevran prowled closer towards the grey-haired woman, taking the opportunity to size up her body beneath layers of furs. It gave his mind something to _do_. She was older, yes, but Wynne had a steely vitality that did make the more basic parts of his brain curious. Especially since she was _dead_. A conundrum, but an enjoyable one. Interesting to him. There was one facet of experience he hadn't had, sharing pleasure with a living-dead woman. There was nothing false in his lazy ardency for her – like almost any who asked, he would join with her if she wished.

"No."

"Oh…_oh…_I may cry. Hold me to your bosom?"

"Conversation. _Over_."

It was easy, so easy. To become what he had always been; the laughing assassin. To make his mind turn to women, men, wine and food, about as deep as a reflection in a mirror. There were time in the hollow parts of the night to think of other things, were there not?

It took only a detachment from himself to come away from the cliff and smile at his Warden, to proposition her constant, shielding lover as though naught had passed five minutes ago in a bloodied room.

Though, some part of his pride crowed, not so easy for her.

Because his Warden, fair goddess of death that she was, watched him as though in mourning, eyes hooded, body wan and somehow curled up on itself. Her fingers clutched in Alistair's hand.

_Guilt_. _You should feel guilty_. He let the hardness of the accusation line his eyes and mouth when she looked at him. When her lips trembled but her shoulders firmed, he knew she'd gotten the message.

_I hate you_, his mind spewed towards her back as they quietly debated their next move in this town of death.

_I am sorry_, his heart echoed when she wiped a forming tear.

And perhaps there were three more words forming in his stomach, knotted around hatred and contrition, but they would do the least good of all.

The invisible bindings, however, paid attention _only_ to those last unformed thoughts. And tightened.


	19. Chapter 19

Author: aimorai

Word Count: 3,477

_Warning: Long chapter is long, and hopefully not too angsty. Sorry this took over a week to get up, but I had to make sure that it read well! As always, questions, comments and criticisms are very welcome. Chapter is rated T/M for violent situations/gore and slight suggestive language._

It _wasn't_ Jowan.

Jowan was _gone_. So he couldn't be sanding in front of her, with the well-loved quiet smile, with furrows in his ever-worried brow. He _couldn't_ be, and yet she was starting to weep.

For a moment, Nell actually thought she had snapped. The town of Haven had proved to be one gigantic battlefield, from townspeople trying to stab through them with pitchforks to crazed priests – of a sort – challenging them from within a church. Thank Andraste that the Maker was absent from this world, because He would have had to deal with a gigantic red mess in one of his "holy" houses (thought its previous cultish defilement was at least _something_ that was not Nell's fault). Nell was fairly certain that some of the stains that they'd left behind would never come out. Her own robes were a testament to the lingering power of blood and death. Some things would simply never wipe clean.

Nell had been for resting after that, but Brother Gentivi had insisted that they head straightaway into this labyrinth in the mountains. There were not only ghouls but dragons as well, and other creatures straight out of the Fade. Each and every one of her muscles was stiff and sore, and she knew that everyone else could have been faring no better. On top of it, she was feeling that particular lightheaded and leaden sensation that came only when she was sapped of magical stamina; they were out of lyrium potions to help with the quiet, deep ache. Meeting with the solemn ghost of the Guardian had made Nell merely wish for death, if such a voice could have spoken to her for all eternity. The sudden urge to sleep had never been greater, and she'd answered his questions with a weary truthfulness that he seemed to respect.

_Yes, I regret turning over my best friend to the authorities. I regret my fear, and I regret the day that I became a Grey Warden. Killing Darkspawn does not atone for such a personal death of morality_. Nell was certain that Leliana would remind her that the darkspawn are the result of man's folly and sin; that she would, in fact, be killing the remnants of a sin, a bad decision, far more wide-sweeping than her own. It wouldn't matter; perhaps Nell was shallow, or prevented from such a detached point of view, but the lump of guilt lodged in her sternum had seemed to be there permanently. Killing thousands of Darkspawn had not moved nor weakened it.

However, at the moment, the lump had risen to her throat.

He greeted her, and Nell was barely able to respond.

"You're not Jowan." The words were heartbreaking, but she knew them to be true once uttered. She merely _wanted_ it to be Jowan; the thrice-damned Guardian had plucked him from her thoughts: this thing, spirit, creature – he was merely the vanguard of her insecurity and doubt.

At least, blessedly, she was alone. The others had stepped back once they saw what was down the hall, and she sensed rather than saw Alistair shielding her perilous privacy.

The thing in front of her confirmed her fears- no, he was not Jowan; yes, he was merely there to provide her with release from her guilt and fear; ultimately, he said, to let her know that Jowan forgave her.

_Forgave_ her.

How could this thing possibly know what Jowan would have said or done? He _looked_ and _talked_ like Jowan, but Nell was enough of a mage to know that spirits could pluck memories, rework the cobwebs of her mind to reconstruct the image of Jowan that she'd kept cocooned in her subconscious. For a cold moment, she thought it was possibly a pride demon, come to take her at last. To tell her that she could do no wrong, had done the _right_ thing, had been the _better_ person. Wasn't that the sort of thing pride demons said? She only remembered her conversation in the Harrowing, which had seemed like a lifetime ago. She thought that demon had stroked her ego as well.

Tears were bitter. How could they ever be sweet?

She was trying to work up an accusation but the thought of yelling at even the shade of Jowan made her weep.

It held out a pendant, and Nell took it before she could stop herself, the low light in the cavern somehow finding the metal on the chain, making it twinkle with multi-faceted light.

And then he was gone.

"Jowan…!" Nell breathed, her throat closing on a cry, hands clawing at the air in front of her where her guilt had once stood.

"Nell?"

Her name. Was he coming back, could she talk to him more? _My friend, I miss you_…_my true friend_…

"Nell…"

No, no…no… that wasn't Jowan's voice.

That was Alistair.

Alistair, clanking up awkwardly in his armor behind her, one plated arm coming to support her around the middle. It was uncomfortable to be squeezed when he had on all his armor like that, and Nell started shaking her head violently, moving forward until her forehead pressed against cool stone. She just breathed. Nell was vaguely aware of awkward clunking sounds behind her, and then the next thing that touched her was not the hard, cool metal of a gauntlet but the very warm, tentative sweep of uncovered fingertips curling underneath her hair, soft against the back of her neck.

"Are you alright? Do you _really_ want me to go, because, you know I'm not _smooth_ or anything but I hope I might be a bit more comfortable than a _rock_…"

Nell let out a breath and merely turned, ecstatic to find that he'd not only done away with the gauntlets but his chest-piece as well, so that her face found warm linen and muscle when she buried her head against him.

"Jowan." She murmured, snuffling against his shirt.

"…Eh, nooo, Alistair. Al-is-tair. C'mon, royal bastard, ex-Templar, Grey Warden, have I made so little of an impression...?"

Nell weakly thwapped her arm against Alistair's ribs, and he sighed, wrapping both arms around her. The one stayed in her hair, his fingers making gentle circles at the base of her skull as he often did when they were laying together at night, and the other anchored around the small of her waist.

"I _meant_ that this place showed me Jowan-"

"-I know, I saw him."

"Don't joke about him, please-"

"I would never, I was joking about _me_, or were you not paying attention again?"

Nell peeked upwards with her best long-suffering look towards him, though it was tempered by tears at the corner of her vision.

"After everything I've told you about him, you think this is funny?"

Alistair tilted his head a little bit, eyes softening. "No, of course not." He took his hand from her hair and put his thumb over the wrinkle in her brow, smoothing it out until Nell choked out a little sigh; it was reminiscent of that moment, so many nights ago, surrounded by wild roses. "I just wanted to make you forget about it for a moment."

Nell blew out a breath, and then took in another deeply through her nostrils. In truth, Alistair did not smell at his best. It had been a long day of fighting, and even his linens were stained with sweat. She smelled darkspawn stench on him, the coppery tang of blood, mixed in with the masculine smell of exertion, dirt, and that special warm something that was always living there, buried in his neck and collarbone. The smells were very _real_, and started to anchor her back to a time and place outside of the Tower.

"You smell great, is that death you're wearing? It really suits you."

Alistair took the thoughts right out of her head and she actually laughed, a quick guffaw of a sound that made Nell lower her face against his chest and shake out her head.

"Can you _ever_ be serious?"

"I'm very serious! You seriously smell _rank_, I'm appalled."

Nell sighed into Alistair's neck, pressing a few kisses over whatever skin she could find that was not tainted with blood or other mystery fluids. There was salt on her tongue from his sweat, but his very quiet intake of breath, the lifting of his chest beneath hers, was worth it. Nell's heart swelled with the sudden, stolen intimacy.

Nothing about it felt wrong, in stark contrast to the stolen moments earlier in the day, consumed in firelight…

"You know…last time I insulted you, I got a kiss. I insult you again and I… can I say I like the direction your mouth is heading…?"

"Alistair!" Nell laughed out his name, and he chuckled, breath twirling through some small hairs near her ear. "You've gotten positively _dirty_-minded, this is hardly the time, Andraste's…ghost-Guardian-thing is in the next room over."

"And _now_ she mentions Andraste, every Chantry-boy's dream…mm, holy knickers…"

Nell chuckled and smiled up at Alistair, lifting up a hand to ruffle through the clipped hair at the back of his neck; it was getting just a little bit longer, the texture getting finer and softening with time.

"There, now you're smiling…" Alistair brought his hands around to cup either side of Nell's face; his gaze turned from wistful to sincere in a heartbeat, and Nell felt her cheeks blushing under the soft weight of his regard. "Really, are you alright?"

Nell nodded into his grip, letting out a breath slowly as she spoke. "I… I will be, I think. That was just… it wasn't _really_ him, and I know, but it was…" Nell crinkled her brow, and Alistair immediately kissed her forehead, trying to soothe out the lines before they appeared.

"It was what?"

"He said…everything I needed to her. Everything I'd wished in my head to hear Jowan say to me, one day. And I _knew_ it was fake and still it… helped. That makes me feel really strange. Cheap. Like part of me is accepting the false reality just to feel better."

"Well, you know, I tell myself things all the time that I know aren't true, and I feel better. Like how charming I am. Or that I know _exactly_ what to say right now. Things like that."

"I…somehow don't think that's the same." Nell looked at Alistair a little dubiously.

"Of _course_ it's the same. You're meaning to say that this…Fade-thing, right? Got plucked right out of your head and put on his face and told you things you'd already told yourself, right?"

"More or less. But seeing him say all the things I'd told myself a hundred times made all the difference. So it's…not the same, because telling myself didn't work."

"Well…maybe…you're just stubborn!" Alistair tried a winning smile, and then faltered when Nell didn't laugh. "Or maybe I'm a fool for convincing myself so easily. Bad Alistair, very bad."

She sighed, and he tried again.

"Look." Alistair lowered his hands to cup around Nell's, and the warmth radiated up her arms and all the way down her toes. "I don't… I can't pretend to know, what it's like for you. To see your friend there, after everything. Knowing he's…probably as good as dead, once we get back to Redcliffe."

Nell bit her lip, looking down at their conjoined fingers. She squeezed.

"But I think…this Guardian, he sort of…sees to the heart of people. And I think he saw that you _deserve_ the forgiveness you never got, with all of the…fighting, and possessing, and Grey Warden-ing. Maybe he saw that you _need_ to…let it go. So he tried."

Nell sighed out, leaning against Alistair, who immediately embraced her again, running his fingers through the knots in her hair and lightly separating them.

She felt in that moment that she didn't deserve any of that. His own brand of comfort, roundabout as it was, managed as usual to get to the heart of the matter. She felt like she shouldn't allow herself to take comfort with him, when hours ago she had proven that she really _was_ a wicked mage. _I kissed Zev, Alistair_. Well, kissed him back, anyway. She remained quiet, her hands fidgeting in the bottom of Alistair's damp tunic. He was continuing.

"…I'm just glad you're not keeping it all to yourself, really, that you're telling me. I know it's a sore spot and everything, but some days I think you're still going to run away…"

He was rambling a little, whispering little nothings into her hair about how he felt privileged to be the one that she came to, even though, if truth be told, he'd still had to force it out of her a little. And if he only _knew_ what she was still hiding, how much she'd run away…

Nell stiffened a little in his arms, and Alistair stopped talking quickly "And I _know_ that we have to be almost don-hmm?" His face was immediately serious, looking down at her.

She held up the very solid pendant that the ghost of her mind had given to her, twirling it around in the low light.

"…I didn't tell you that he gave this to me." That was another thing she'd left out; Nell tried to console herself by one secret by remembering to give all of the details in the moment. It didn't really work, but the sweet, slightly ironic smile that Alistair gave her chased away some of her doubt in the moment. "What?"

"Oh, nothing, just…you know we're _painfully_ cute now, matchy-matchy while we're stabbing things…" He paused, and reached his fingers down beneath his tunic, pulling out the little locket that Nell had found for him. His mother's.

It didn't really look the same, but they both were _pendants_, now weren't they?

"Y'know…me, with the reminder of my dead mother, you with the reminder of your almost-dead friend. Quite the cheery couple, we are." He smirked, and Nell made a face at him, even though she did put on Jowan's amulet.

"I'd never ask you to take it off, you know." He tipped up her chin with the crook of his forefinger. "Not _ever_. Even if I am jealous he might get to live between your…y'know, quite comfy there." He blushed ever so slightly, and Nell just laughed, hugging Alistair around the middle.

"Thank you for understanding."

"Hey, it's what I do. Deliverer of bad news, witty one liners, and perfectly-worded reassurances. At your service."

Alistair sketched a bow; it was so reminiscent of the one Zevran had given her in anger in the room of fire and death that Nell's blood ran cold. She tried to smile, but it came out a little stiff. The rest of her felt poker-straight. Luckily, thank whatever part of the Maker might be listening, Alistair didn't seem to notice. Instead he was putting his heavy armor back on with a lightness that she only wished she could mimic; she was dead-tired in her robes, she couldn't imagine the weariness Alistair must have been feeling carrying around all that extra weight.

Once he was done, they all made their way around the barrier into the next room.

Nell wasn't really paying attention; she felt simultaneously light and heavy. Jowan's spirit, and then Alistair, really _had_ made her feel better. When she was close to her fellow Grey Warden, she never thought about Zevran, or Wynne, or the Blight. She was just existing moment-to-moment, grateful for whatever time they had to eke out happiness together. It almost felt like their fair due, considering all that was in front of them, the vastness of their task. So many little things, smiles and kisses, laughter and jokes, having them would never really balance out all of the bad that was happening in the world. Nell felt as if she would go mad without it, really.

She was already going mad, of course, because the moment that Alistair stepped away, she felt dangerous eyes on her back, trailing down her hip. Zevran had been _staring _at her for hours now, but saying not a word. His eyes had been as sharp and brittle as amber whenever she dared to look at him. Without the shielding warmth of the man she was certain she was falling in love with, there was _hot_ fire, passionate anger, lust, hate, and a visceral tug at her veins that made Alistair seem like a fading ember that was kicked out of an inferno.

Ridiculous, of course. Because when he got nearer, she knew that the quiet glow of him drowned out anything else. And even in that room, where she'd had the most passionate, raw kiss of her life with the assassin, she hadn't gotten Alistair's face from her mind. The reverse was not true; it should have made her feel better to know that her heart was making a choice even if her head and body were confused.

Or was she? Because Zevran…his eyes, that tug in her middle…she _knew_ that tug, and it was more than just lust.

Nell felt like she was rocking back and forth on a sea, and it was only steady near her anchor. She whispered over to Alistair's side within a few feet, her eyes cast to the floor.

_What will the next trial be_?

A blizzard that would rival any of her own seemed to answer her thought; a chilling wind ripping through the chamber and knocking her bodily to the floor.

"Mage!" Alistair yelled through the storm, his voice seeming to be first on one side of it and then the other. She saw him though, quickly – a faint glow around him the sent tendrils all around, trying to dispel the magic, cleanse any possible bad effects. The sheer mental effort of it made him gasp in a breath; Nell struggled to her feet as the storm died, looking up to see…

Herself.

Her exact self, except with eyes as dead as used coals.

And Zevran, and Alistair. Wynne too.

And they, those _others_, the _fakes_, had the drop on the group. Nell seemed to be the last one to react, her mouth agape even as she watched her shadow manifest a cone of cold, aimed directly at Wynne. Nell shot back at her own darker half defensively with a quick arcane bolt, disrupting further casting, even as she tried to _think_. These…shadows, shades, they weren't thinking, they were _acting_, and all the while she was staring at her dearest friends, trying to figure out how to best end their lives.

_Ourselves_. _We're going to kill…ourselves_.

Nell tried to think tactically, even as her heart dropped to her stomach, seeing her Zevran and the shadow of Alistair lock blades; their true copies seemed more _colored_ somehow, but…Zevran and Alistair, fighting, and Alistair…where was _her _Alistair, he should be..

"Alistair, _me_! Kill _me_!" Nell had to admit that, were she facing them, she'd tried to kill herself first. Her duplicate was throwing off spells, mostly aimed at Wynne, some at Zevran – cold and wind, with some pure arcane bolts thrown in. Disrupting the battlefield. As a mage, she had the power to shape the entire course of events, and she should be taken down first. Herself, and Wynne. Then the other two.

Alistair would be the best to dispatch of her, with his anti-magic abilities, but no. He was _ignoring_ her other self, he was working with Zevran to kill his own image, their bodies flexing together, moving to try and get beyond the shield of shadow-Alistair, seeming to predict their every motion. And Zevran was yelling something, andAlistair was grim, and Wynne was crying out for something…

This was wrong, all wrong, it shouldn't be happening like this…

Nell felt the heat blooming at her back before she actually felt the pain of twin daggers sinking into her kidneys. Her own blood was soaking through her robes and she simply parted her lips. She didn't know if she yelled, all she felt was the sickening, ripping twist of metal deep inside of herself, and the world was going yellow. Something fundamental was broken, she knew. A killing blow, a death sentence, and there was also a crippling nausea, pain radiating out. She was on the floor, but didn't really feel the cold of the stone. It was just cold everywhere really, cold, cold…and dark…and pain, so much pain. Her world was cold pain, like ice in her veins. Nell shook on the floor, convulsing into death. It was nothing like sleep, _nothing_, and she couldn't move or cry or make sound.

Though…Zevran was still yelling, and Wynne was still crying, and Alistair made some kind of sound of rage…it carried her into the pit, the sound of chaos among her loves. It rang hollowly in her stomach before that, too, was blackness.


	20. Chapter 20

Author: aimorai

Word Count: 3,280

_A/N: Apologies again for the very long hiatus – if anyone is still reading, I appreciate it very much, and I hope you enjoy as the story continues – let me know with comments and criticisms! Thank you._

The Fade.

It was always easy to recognize it – the shimmering shapes that were caricatures of the world, the spirits' renditions depicting what they understood of mortal life. It was just as easy, Nell found, to remember that she was not here because she was dreaming. The pain from her mortal wound was lingering in the misty existence, and when she saw the wispy atmosphere around her, it was difficult not to weep. She remembered being stabbed. It was very clear – through the back, into her entrails. There had been a cave, and something important to do, but already the details were…well, fading.

She was _really_ dying, and she was _really_ passing into the beyong, just like the Chantry said. Panic gripped her throat at the thought, and she raised a hand to the cold flesh that she felt there. Was it even real, anymore?

The law of the Chantry would dictate that she would pass through the Fade to the Maker's side if she'd led a good, pious life. She remembered that part. However, Nell found that she had no sense of direction; she was not moving forward or guided in her steps. Instead, she was just _standing_ there.

_Am I doomed to wander the Fade, then? Like all wicked, sinful mages, I suppose…_

Her own thoughts would have normally been unnerving, but there was a strange peace in her limbs, even with the mental panic grappling her. Nell let out a breath and closed her eyes.

A flash of blue.

Voices. Anger, rage, panic, fear…

"Just _stay away from her_, not one more step, we should never have trusted you-"

"It was not _my_ blade, my dear Alistair, need I remind you that it was _I-_"

"-I don't care! She's _dying_ because _you_ are here!"

A whispered voice, female – determined and sad – chanting fluid words that were drifting down through the flash. The entire thing was confusing to her somehow, muddled. She _knew_ the voices but she also did not. It was like trying and failing to recall the name of someone she had met long ago.

However, when Nell opened her eyes, there was simply the Fade again. No voices, no lights. Some strange feeling compelled her forward. There was a long path that curved ever so slightly to the left, and she had the idea that it would be pleasant to walk along it. Even as she stood, it looked like there were trees there, and perhaps a nice stream. _It would be nice to rest_.

She took a few steps, and then there was a strange tug at her back – hard enough to make her stand straight. Her lips parted, her eyes closed again.

Flash.

That same loving, wizened voice was a little louder now, though punctuated by the ugly words in the background.

"If you had simply listened to her, this would not have even happened."

"Just _stop_." This second voice was full of grief, rendered into pieces by guilt. "I _can't_… I can't _do_ this. Twice…"

"Yes, twice." The first voice was there again. Softer, dangerous and silky, though with a hard edge that was hiding much – only the barest touch of grief came through. "And the second time also because of _you-_"

"I will _kill you_ -"

Nell shook her head violently. She did not want to know what the voices were fighting about. It sounded terrible, and painful, and complicated. She wanted to walk towards the stream, and rest beneath the sunlight that she saw in her mind. It seemed closer now, it would be only a dozen steps.

She took four of them, letting out what somehow felt like a final breath.

Her middle jerked backwards as though she was cut in two – she opened her mouth, hand reaching towards the misty trees just out of her reach. _I don't want to go back. I want to stay here. I can rest here._

Blue light.

The sound of metal clashing on metal greeted her ears. Her _ears_ – not just an ethereal sound that came through to her, but one going into her body and being processed and _heard_. Someone screamed, a voice wrecked by anger and pain – it was a sound of longing and frustration. There was a cool hand on her forehead and another on her middle.

A third voice spoke. That soft female one, the only one she'd wanted to hear. The one that, she knew, had guided her back. Wynne.

"Gentlemen, if you have quite finished, I believe I am…done…" She sounded so weary and hollow, as though a huge piece of her was taken out and left to the process of the revival spell.

Nell opened her eyes – her _actual_ eyes – to see Zevran backed into the corner of the cave, his daggers raised to deflect the sword that Alistair was leveling at his head. Her lips parted and she croaked, and both men as one turned towards where she lay upon the ground, her head propped into the Spirit Healer's lap. She didn't really say a word, but blades were immediately lowered at the sound from her throat.

Alistair dropped his sword and shield to the ground, rushing over and sinking to his knees with a clatter. His gauntleted hand reached out, cold metal touching her face before he swore and tugged it off, warm fingers finally finding the cool skin of her cheek. Nell swallowed and tried to talk again – but coughed.

"Nell?" His voice was a soft plea, full of hope and disbelief – like a child that needed reassurance. "By the Maker- Andraste – please…"

She tried speaking again, licking her lips. "Alistair…"

He broke, head lowering before her as his body wracked swiftly – his entire core seeming to contract with the force of his emotion as he let it go. He did not outwardly weep, however, but was silent in his relief.

At some point, Zevran had slinked closer – she saw him to her left, and Nell turned her head gingerly to regard the blonde assassin. In juxtaposition to Alistair's soft, open grief, the elf was stone-faced, his eyes brittle and hard. He said nothing, but his face searched hers as he slowly lowered to his haunches. She saw one hand brace on his knee – the knuckles of his golden skin were white from the force of his grip. "Warden…"

His voice was soft, so soft. Hidden, perhaps, by the fluidity of his accent, but there was a tenderness… Nell opened her mouth, but Alistair's harsh voice swept across the scene like a knife.

"_Don't_ speak to her, Antivan."

Quick as a flash of sunlight, Zevran's eyes cut across to the ex-Templar, his voice deceptively calm. "Well, since we are back to the beginning again, my dear Alistair, might I remind you that I do not really care what you might wish-"

"You _killed_ her."

"_I_ did no such thing. In fact, I saved _your_ life."

"It would never have happened if you were not an _here_, had we not taken you _with_ us…"

"Which, as I recall, was not your decision, yes? You have left everything to your fair companion, and I do not think you should be complaining. I can now see _why_ they let you leave the Templar ranks, for it takes a _worthless assassin_ such as myself to save you from both demons and shades."

Alistair growled and lunged across Nell's body towards Zevran, and it was all she could do to stare for a moment. The hatred between the two men was intense and not entirely sane; it seemed to have been stoked to a frenzy based on what had happened in this room – which was a blur to her mind. She managed to raise her voice – she meant to sound firm or angry, but what came out was a distraught cry.

"No!"

Thank whatever part of the Maker was listening, he stopped. Alistair immediately recoiled away from Zevran as if punched – he got to his feet and stalked several feet away, and Nell put her elbows underneath her body, trying to struggle to a sitting position.

"Careful, my girl…" Wynne's willowy voice cut through, tired but focused. The elder mage seemed determined to ignore the cacophony of emotions around her and tend her charge, and for that, Nell was grateful. At least _one_ person in the room was sane. She aided Nell in sitting, though it hurt her newly-mended insides. But she felt too helpless on the floor – too vulnerable, too powerless.

"What happened?" She looked around the room, asking anyone in the most commanding voice she could muster. "I remember being hurt – knives, in my back, and then…" She waved a tired arm, then winced. Slow movements, right.

Alistair rounded and started, his voice a whip. "They were _assassin_ blades, the Antivan…"

"I understand, Alistair." She looked towards him, her eyes softening. Alistair was a mess. He was breathing erratically, and she could only assume that he'd seen as Zevran's double, his _other_, had wounded her mortally. She licked her lips. "I _do _understand." She tried to quietly plead with him, to catch his gaze. When he finally looked at her, she gave him the gentlest expression she could, trying to will his emotions under the surface, where they could be dealt with later.

"Yes, well – my…shadow, as it were, did you in quickly, my dear…" Zevran picked up where Alistair had left off. He was standing now as well, leaning against the wall, hand playing idly with one of his daggers. Nell knew him well enough to know that the casual position was a ruse. Zevran was on the defensive, his eyes keeping Alistair in the corner of his vision should the other Warden decide to attack again.

"We saw it. It went for dear Wynne next, though I was able to intercept my…self, and hold it at bay until Alistair arrived." Zevran's lips quirked at that – he found _something_ amusing, though Nell could not fathom what. "He and I were able to take my other down quickly, and then Alistair remained to defend that dear lady while I killed the two other mages." He finally looked up at Wynne; his recounting had been without any emotion at all, as if he were discussing the latest fashion styles in Val Royeaux.

"Yes, and then everything was finished quickly after that, thank the Maker." Wynne finished, nodding as she rested against the wall, sitting next to Nell.

"I see." Nell took a moment to take stock of it all – Zevran had done all of the killing, it seemed. Alistair had not – could not, perhaps. She looked at him again. He was glowering at Zevran and casting her forlorn looks in turn, and she wished that she could speak with him alone, though it seemed unlikely any time soon.

First things first, then… Nell tried to get her head in order. The fact that she had very nearly died _for good_ howled at the back of her mind, but she refused to deal with the emotions that rose in concert with that idea; she tried valiantly to stamp them firmly down in response to her necessary duties as leader. Her group members – or, at least, the men among them – were at each others' throats, and they could not proceed if they could not at least work together. Also, Wynne…

"Wynne…thank you." Nell turned softly to smile at the older woman, who merely nodded, her serene glance very knowing.

"It is what I do, my dear. Just allow me some time to rest before we proceed – I'm not sure what else I can take from the Maker just now." She smiled gently, and Nell nodded, slowly coming to her feet. Both Alistair and Zevran moved to help her as one – then espied each other, and stopped in their tracks, glowering across the room.

"Oh, Andraste's tits…" Nell looked between the two of them – Zevran smirking at her impiety, Alistair looking confused – and then snorted. "You two don't have to like each other, but the fighting is absurd. Talk. To me or to each other, but talk." _Smooth_. She didn't know how to proceed with this – despite the issue at the surface, there was a simmering tension between the three of them that Nell knew was not _entirely_ due to the current fighting. She didn't know if Alistair knew – if he sensed at all – what was going on between her and Zevran, and if that was adding to the heat in the room. As if on cue to her thoughts, he spoke in a guttural, urgent voice that he normally used with her and her alone.

"There are _some things_ I need to say to you privately-"

"Then say them in private." She snapped back. Despite her warm regard and growing love for Alistair – and how her skin crawled to be touched by him, to be soothed – she was not impressed with how he was handling the situation. "Say what you can, now."

"Mm, this is very easy to solve. Your Alistair believes I am the problem, my dear Warden, for merely being alive and being here – and thus being the one whose shadow killed you." Zevran's voice cut in lyrically, smarmy and precise, but perhaps unhelpful.

"That is _not all-_"

"Then what else is it?"

"You think I do not notice." Alistair started forward, advancing on the elf, though not drawing his weapon – his voice was a sword, but at least it was not physically threatening. "You try to kill her, and she lets you live. But some part of you must want to still – that _dark_ half – it went _straight_ for her, out of your _mind_!"

"Alistair…" Nell interrupted him, and he glared towards her. "You are saying that you think those things – knew our thoughts? They were more like just – constructs, shadows, like us but without thought..."

"There was _thought_. And _tactics_. And _by the Maker_… hatred, I saw it – he hates you, Nell, I swear it. He'll try to kill you again. He's using us. Has been using us." One hand rose to point accusingly at Zevran – a vein on Alistair's throat twitched with the force of remaining at least passably calm; Nell knew it was for her benefit and hers alone.

Zevran remained curiously, damnably quiet, his eyes cast towards the floor during the diatribe; he seemingly did not care about the attack on his honor, and Nell let out a breath, quickly speaking on his behalf before Alistair became nonsensical.

"Zevran has saved me – saved us all, now – twice. I should think if he wanted me dead I would be so by now." She felt weary – she was well-stitched by Wynne's hands, but the lack of lyrium and food within the last twenty-four hours was taking a toll on her body's response to healing. Nell felt half-alive, at best.

"Mm, yes." The elf finally spoke, quietly but with conviction. "I do not want the Warden's life." Zevran gave Alistair a measuring look. "I tried to kill our Warden once, my dear Alistair – you have managed to nearly kill her twice, yes?"

Alistair roared towards Zevran, and Nell bolted forward between him and the elf as a human shield– her hand smacked painfully against his breastplate, and the knight just managed not to draw his sword; instead he stilled, body quaking, eyes closing with a firm jaw. Zevran backed from Nell's near-touch immediately; it was a sharp, unexpected pain for him to do so, but she ignored it – would ponder it later – and she looked directly up at Alistair.

He was still trembling. She turned to face him, her voice lowering to a private pitch. "Alistair…"

"He's right." His voice broke, shaking, warbling around pitch. "By the Maker, Nell, it's me…"

"No."

His arms crushed around her shoulders – some part of her noted that even in his emotional frenzy, he did not touch the part of her that was injured. His armor hurt, but he needed to do it, and so Nell let him.

"It is, it is me – I _couldn't_ – I heard you tell me to go after your shade and I _couldn't_, it was your _face_, and I-"

"I know, Alistair." She was aware of Wynne and Zevran quietly moving back, though there were amber eyes on her. _He is always watching me, now_. "It's alright."

"It's not – I – you can't – you have to stop taking me, I'm dangerous, I…" he was a mess now, a rash of words tumbling from him.

"I _need_ you, Alistair." Nell tried to keep her voice firm. This was not the time for tender, emotional dealing – she did not have the time or mental resolve to work through this with him without losing herself. She squeezed her hand around his one ungauntleted hand, silently praying to Andraste for the right words. "I need your sword, and your abilities – I need you in the middle, guiding the fight. I depend on you." Her finger slowly traced over his callouses, her voice lowering gently. "And _I_ need _you_. Don't leave me alone." _You promised_. She didn't say it, but the words were clear in her tone.

His soft sepia eyes shuttered, lids falling over them to hold back the emotional torrent she knew Alistair was feeling. Nell got to her tiptoes and risked a gentle kiss- he shuddered, kissing her back gently before lifting his head; perhaps he was too emotional for even that intimacy in the moment.

But he was composing himself. She saw it in his shoulders, the broad planes straightening slowly. She squeezed his hand again, wishing she could soothe away every wrinkle in his brow. Instead, she caressed her thumb on the inside of his palm gently before stepping back, looking to Wynne. "Perhaps we should all rest for an hour or so. Just – just be apart, and think, and compose ourselves." The room was dark and cavernous, but felt oddly safe for the time being. Nevermind that there had been a battle raging not so long ago.

Zevran moved to brush past her, and sensing an opportunity, Nell spoke low, under her breath to the elf as Alistair went to get water from his pack.

"We need to talk, later."

Zevran's eyes, which had been fixated on the ground, rose to bear directly into hers. The heat and shadow lingering in the amber made a lump rise in Nell's throat. Alistair may have been showy in his desperation – but Zevran's haunted eyes made her heart break. He hid it well, though, forcing some of his customary spark to shine through.

"Mm, just talk, Warden?" It sounded flirty enough, but there was an edge to his tone that cut like a knife. Mocking and sharp, reminding her of what had transpired between them. She outwardly flinched, but Zevran did not look away.

"_Talk_." They needed resolution, and what he had said to Alistair was cruel. He would not get away with it forever – only for now, while lives were on the line.

The corner of Zevran's mouth curled softly – dangerously. "Of course. I am yours."

He kept walking after that parting shot, bumping Nell's shoulder deliberately, she turned and watched his back.

Zevran _did_ hate her, at least in a way – Alistair was hurt by his love for her, and Wynne was on the brink of exhaustion from dealing with her near-death. Nell was confused, and had the horrible sensation of having missed out on her one chance at peace – though she couldn't remember quite what it was.

It was just out of reach, a dozen steps ahead of her…but she hadn't made it, and instead was here – hurting everyone she cared about. Every day.


	21. Chapter 21

Author: aimorai

Word Count: 5,644

A/N: A slight time-skip here, and there will be two POVs within this chapter, alternating back and forth – hopefully the switches will not be too confusing! Also – fair warning – content NSFW!

As always, I appreciate any and all comments and criticisms, and I hope you're enjoying the story.

'Later' always took a longer and longer time, so it seemed.

Trials were over; ashes were pinched. Arl Eamon was resuscitated, only to declare upon his awakening that Alistair's bloodline should grant him a spot on the throne. He wouldn't have been the first bastard to claim power in history, to be sure, but…

Tired, injured, and emotionally weary, the words had sounded ridiculous to Nell's ears, and she'd responded with sarcastic anger. Alistair, though – he was just shocked. They hadn't had their 'private talk' or even a private moment since the tense dealings in the Temple. At least this time, he hadn't run off, but gently requested time alone in response to Nell's probing glance. _Some sort of progress, then_. At her core, however, she was frustrated. _Alistair_ got to deal with his problems, his emotions. Everyone was sensitive to his moods, and he was able to wallow and fester in his indecision. Nell, however, had nearly died, and since her awakening from the Fade no one had even asked how she was handling herself – beyond Wynne's gentle questions as to her physical state, there hadn't even been a whispered '_How are you holding up?_' or '_So…death. What's that like?_'

It was annoying, and tiring, and isolating. She felt like she was leaping into the fire of this Blight with a blindfold and a wide-arching hammer of uneven justice – each decision snowballing upon itself, but there was some….sense, now, that it was merely _expected_ of her. True, she did not willingly share her travails – had not opened up to anyone totally since that fateful night by the river and roses - but she had never felt more distant from her self or the people around her; from Alistair to Morrigan, they were all strangers.

_I never asked for any of this_.

Her legs had brought her to her quarters at Eamon's estate, and it seemed they could go no further. Nell's knees buckled; she sank to the edge of the bed and wept. A thousand thoughts echoed in her mind; she felt her fingers tightening over her temples, as if her head might burst at any moment. Fractured images were accompanied by half-formed, nebulous words -

Alistair's voice, lyrical, soft and charming…even then, even then…_Join us brothers and sisters…join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn…_

_You are required to do nothing, least of all believe. Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide, either way, one's a fool._ Flemeth's laughing, her knowing eyes – that witch…

Eyes looking to her, always looking, expecting a decision, expecting the _right_ choice, when any fool could see that no choice was ever _right_. Flemeth knew. Nell knew, now. The best a choice could ever be was _informed_. And even then – information, history, facts, all tainted.

The taint was even in her blood, her insides. She wondered if healing had been so taxing because Wynne had had to heal a body that was already partly dying. A slow death by duty, corruption by an irreversible decision that was neither right nor wrong, but merely necessary, made in a moment of panic.

And only _now_ did she see the implications, only now did her fear manifest, stronger than any demon. She understood now, how men created demons – why nothing would ever be alright…

His Warden was crying.

No…really, she was weeping – her throat closing on sobs to mute them even now, when she was not aware she could be overheard.

She had said that she wanted to talk, and Zevran's body had been tense since she'd uttered the words. Some part of him knew that the next words they spoke to each other would push them one way or the other, irreversibly. This was the first moment that he'd found her alone, and he had waited for as long as he could. Truthfully, he did not even know what there was to be said between them. Nothing…though, perhaps everything, as well.

He had even toyed with the idea of leaving her to whatever fate was before her, but his feet would not take the steps. Besides, where would he go? Back to the Crows? Perhaps to Denerim or Rivain, work as a mercenary? None of the options left a good taste – the copper of his blood, drawn by his Warden, was somehow more palatable.

Her tears, however, were not.

He was in front of her before he'd realized the decision to take the steps, crouching to place his hands over her long fingers and pull them from her face. She frowned, jerking back her head and blinking several times. To his distaste, she straightened once she registered that it was he, immediately trying to disguise her previously softened demeanor.

Zevran studied her for a long moment. She had not yet bathed, though had cleaned herself quickly upon arrival at the estate. Her cheeks were pale except for a quick splash of red high on her cheeks – the look was almost fevered. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, her cheeks wet and puffy, her lips chapped, her neck dirty, hair mussed. Her fingers were shaking within his cupped grip; with hazel eyes riveted upon him in surprise, Zevran guessed that she did not even realize he held them. He did not squeeze or grip – simply tried to grant some measure of calm with his own steadier palms, unobtrusively.

"What are you doing here? I-" She turned to look at the door, which was opened only halfway.

"You said you wanted to _talk_, my dear Warden."

He expected his lightly salacious tone to spark something within her – temper or heat, perhaps - but Nell's face simply crumpled.

"I can't really- there's-" She was speaking in fits and starts, her shoulders falling in. He waited; she took a breath and continued. "I have a lot on my mind right now, Zevran, I- I fear I can't give you my full attention." Her brows knitted together, eyes finally flicking back to his face. Once their gazes met, Zevran turned his downward; looking her in eye was uncomfortable. She could read him well. "You could have knocked."

He felt one corner of his mouth lift; he was watching her pulse, just above her collarbone, and it rose with her chiding tone.

"Mm, but you would have told me to go away, no?"

"No-" She started, and then winced. "Yes." Nell looked down at her hands in his grip and automatically raised them; the flush across her cheeks grew noticeably. "Would you wait, even so?"

"If you ask me to, I suppose I could think about it. Do you wish me to go?" Slowly, he tilted his head. Seeing her face in such disarray gave him an uneasy pain – superficially, she looked terrible, but in that moment he felt that knew what was bothering her more than she even did, and the sudden knowledge was unwieldy.

His Warden had nearly died, but still she was asked to solve the problems of a life that, he believed, she did not even want. She had the love of a half-realized man to wrestle with, and had to carry the expectations of an entire Order on her thin shoulders, without him even _attempting_ to shoulder the burden with her. Worst of all, perhaps, was that she had not learned how to say 'no' to those around her. Even now, he fully expected no real rebuff from her, no matter what he did. She might push him off, but never _away_.

These thoughts would normally have incensed him, but instead he felt – protective.

The knot around his heart tightened.

He lifted a thumb to smoothly wipe away her tears, from one cheek and then the other – not gentle or rough, but deliberate, his eyes focused on the movement but his mind locked on her quiet response. Nell shook, but held firm – allowing it, but giving no indication of any other feeling. Frustrating. Entrancing.

"Zev…please come back later." Her tears gone, she lifted her head from his hand, and he obligingly moved it from her features. Her words were a plea, not a command, just as he'd expected.

"Hmmm…" Zevran tapped his finger to his lips, pretending to think. "No."

Zevran could really not have picked a worse time to appear; Nell felt broken, and when she had felt strong hands on top of hers, and opened her eyes to see the golden elf, the urge to allow him to soothe her had waxed strong. There had been no disappointment that he was not Alistair, and her heart trembled to admit it. His face was also lacking in the hatred, the bitterness she'd sensed for the last couple of weeks. Perhaps it had only been because she was crying, but to see him without the hard edge gave her an unexpected relief.

He _needed_ to go. She was too raw, going to be _too_ honest. Either one way or the other.

"There is too much to say, and I won't get it right. Later would be-" She shook her head.

"Oddly enough, my dear, I think there is not much to say at all." Zevran interrupted, subtly spreading his arms before her in a gesture of placation; a willingness to drop it, she gathered. _He is always willing to drop it_. It niggled.

Nell's mind was fuzzy. "There is." She sighed and closed her eyes, so she didn't have to look at him. Feeling soft was dangerous; she deliberately chose in that moment to be confrontational. "We could start with how you were cruel to Alistair, or about how you kissed me. Take your pick."

"I would always rather talk about kissing you." Zevran's deft, quick retort seemed easy, though his eyes flashed. "You need not worry, you have asked me not to do so again, and so I will not. Life is too short for unwilling lovers."

Nell finally opened her eyes, regarding the elf in front of her. While he had done away with some of his armor – the heavier or more awkward pieces, like his gauntlets and light pauldrons – he still looked prepared for a fight. His demeanor was defensive, but there was also that terrible air about him again – closed off and cold. She looked away, towards a window.

"Why did you-?"

His reply was immediate. "Because I wanted to."

"I find it hard to believe that was the only reason."

"Why?" Zevran laughed – a fragile sound. "I could say I was curious, or that I did it because you are a beautiful woman. Perhaps I could give you other reasons. Or, I could simply say I wanted to – they are really all the same reason."

Nell snorted. "None of those are any answer at all. You know that I am with Alistair, that-"

"Ah yes, Alistair. Our other topic, no?" He cut her off, lifting a few digits in what appeared to be a dismissive gesture, standing to move away and lean against the nearest wall. "Are we to talk about my cruelty to him in kissing you? Or perhaps my nerve in telling him what he knows to be true – that he mishandles you? It is funny, my dear Warden, that we are discussing my cruelty when I am the one to wipe your tears, no?"

"That's not fair, Zev, he's been told that the Arl intends to make him a _king-_"

"Considering that he is the one with a shield, Warden, you leap to his defense _so_ very often."

"Well, he's not here, and you're insulting him behind his back."

"It is nothing I have not already said to his front." Zevran did not appear at all ruffled by the conversation at first glance – he had his usual defiant smirk – but Nell noticed that he simply grew tighter. Hard became harder; his body seemed to vibrate with tension, while his face was impassive.

"And _you_, my dear, can you own to such honesty to the man you claim to love?"

The words out of his mouth were so fast and so casually said that it took Nell a moment to process his true meaning. The mockery, the insouciant smile, the blatant _knowing_ in his entire frame was an insult – he could not have hurt Nell more if he had punched her. He knew she'd said nothing. How could he not know? She and Alistair hadn't fought about it, Alistair hadn't tried to hunt Zevran down in jealousy, and there had been no fallout. And the guilt in it being pointed out so openly _squeezed_. "You _bastard_-" Nell was surprised at her tone; her raised voice, hands balling into fists. At how quickly he got a rise out of her.

"Ha! Bastard son of an Antivan whore, did you forget so easily? Do not expect me to act differently." Quick as a flash, he was off the wall. And she was getting on her feet. His face was locked, eyes searching – she could only imaging that she was his mirror. It was like they were both daring the other to be the one to push – and somehow each reluctant to be the instigator of a fall from…whatever sort of relationship they had. He continued.

"I have made no pretense with you, my Warden. You cannot blame me for this." His words were spat out, daring her to disagree.

"No pretense? No blame? _You_ kissed _me_. I feel like I don't- you are _not_ the same as you were. I would give _anything_ to go back-"

"Mm, anything?" He purred. Mocking.

"Stop. You went from being my friend to being- you _hate_ me, don't you?"

"Hmm, hate is a very strong word. I try to avoid anything requiring so much…commitment." Nell took a chance and raised her hand, gripping Zevran's chin tightly. She forced his face straight, eyes to her.

"Why?"

His eyebrows narrowed, head lifting out of her bruising grip. She let him go, but otherwise persisted. "_Why_?"

"You are getting dangerously _direct_, my dear."

"_Stop._" Nell pushed him, though he gripped her wrists in reflex, muting the tiny force she was able to muster and holding her captive. She was so _easily_ handled by him, and it made her feel stupid. She felt she had to regain control – some semblance of her normal authoritative self. "Answer the question, Zevran"

"You spared my life, Warden, and you have my blood oath. That does _not_ mean I need to answer your questions. You may ask, and I may choose not to answer, yes? Or…_must_ I? Is that what my oath means to you?" His hands squeezed painfully around her wrists.

"I-" Nell was taken aback. Zevran looked _angry_, his eyes darkening to a deep golden color she was certain that she had never seen –_did I make him feel like a slave?_ "So that's it, then? You are simply going to…_dislike_ me, without telling me? Shall I just release you from your oath now, so you can be free of something you obviously don't want? Your oath is- it's only what you want it to be, Zevran. Nothing more."

He blinked. "You would not hold me to my oath?" Surprise replaced anger; Nell even glimpsed sudden insecurity, of all things, on his face.

She jerked her hands back, rubbing at her wrists "I hold you no longer to any oath. I haven't- for a long time. Leave any time you like." The words were dead, but sincere. Defeated. It was curious how she could be so angry at him – so frustrated, confused, but yet not wish him to leave. Zevran's presence had become a boon to Nell – something depended upon, something that she ultimately liked. More than liked…

However, the oath had ceased to matter to her in the immediate days after sparing Zevran's life. She'd meant what she'd said to Alistair – if he'd wanted to kill her, he would have. Poison in her stew, knifing her in her sleep, there were a thousand ways to kill her. Her eyes drifted downward. Perhaps it was just permission to leave that he'd wanted in the end – she'd gotten no further towards getting her questions answered. He didn't care enough to tell her, it seemed – he didn't want to work it out. Whatever had been holding him to her- those lines had somehow become cut. The thought caused a tug at her stomach and shivers in her forearms. She sank to the edge of the bed, weary.

"Do you wish me to go?" It was the second time he'd asked that question in scant minutes – but this time softly, so quietly. This time, it made tears brim.

"No." She shook her head immediately, unwilling to play a game. "No, Zevran. I wish for you to stay. I wish for you to be here." Nell pushed her hands back through her hair, trying to prevent it from falling into her eyes. "But I don't wish for you to be unhappy. I wish… I wish for you to choose. You've- you've gone from one oath to another, haven't you? One-_Maker_, I hate the word, but one form of master…to another, haven't you? Zev, I wouldn't hurt you for the _world_, but I have anyway. And- and you're right, there's nothing I can make you say. It…I made a mistake, making you talk to me, but I'm sorry. For whatever I did or did not do, I'm sorry."

"Warden-" Zevran faltered.

"I don't know if your shade hated me, but if _you_ hate me, then what we had is just another thing I failed at." _Another decision I've made poorly_. "I didn't spare your life to make you hate it, so…if you've just been waiting for me to tell you to go…go. If that is your wish. With my blessing."

There was no end to his torment at the hands of the Warden.

He'd resolved to hate her, and she was _sorry_ for his hatred. He thought to leave, and he had her _blessing_ to go. It was not even martyrdom – it was…acceptance. Complete acceptance of his will – of his wants as a person, his happiness, wherever it may take him, whatever it meant. Acceptance that she had somehow erred with him, and that his mood was not of his own making, a product of his past and his stubbornness – she was wrong for thinking so, but that she was willing to shoulder the blame for this as _well_ as the fate of the world was too much to be borne. She would say _anything_ to alleviate him, perhaps, but she would also mean whatever she said the moment after it passed her lips. She was stubborn like that – and stupidly kind.

Kindness. Mercy. _Acceptance._ In a beautiful, flawed package he was bound to beyond false oaths and contingency plans.

It would no longer do to curse her. Himself, perhaps, for his reaction to her, but not _her_. She bore too much. Watching her suffer because of his insecurity was something he would not do.

Zevran heard himself make a strained sound, though he tried to cover it up with a chuckle.

"You wound me, Warden."

His tongue felt like lead, but he tried to say what he meant.

"I do not wish to go." He crouched in front of her again, lifting one corner of his mouth, daring to meet her eyes. "I wish to follow my oath. That is enough for now, yes?"

His Warden actually smiled, though it was watery, tainted by the tears caught up on her lovely lower lashes.

"And now _I_ have made you cry. Perhaps I am as cruel as you say."

"You're very wicked, Zev." The Warden sighed, raising her knuckles to her eyes to wipe away the forming tears.

He stood smoothly, looking down at her tired frame. Despite the dirt and the caking of sweat on her now-dingy robes, she was still beautiful to him. Taking a chance – for when was it _not_ worth it? – he put out a hand to run a dirty brown curl through his deft fingers, musingly. Nell turned her head towards him eyes widened again, but she did not tug away. That was a good sign.

"Perhaps someday, I will answer your question, my Warden."

"Which one? I think I asked at least two." She lifted a corner of her mouth, mimicking his thoughtful-but-amused expression. Her eyes were fixating on his face. He had noticed that she had developed a habit of running the lines of his jaw, his neck with her gaze. It was a fascinating mannerism, and one he only approved of. Feeling her regard even in that small sense was a quicksilver thrill in his thighs.

"Mm. True." He flashed a feral grin. "Then I shall pick which question to answer. I hope it is the one about kissing."

"You hope?" She slowly arched a fine brow, and he watched the muscles around her forehead change with the inherently graceful movement.

"My dear Warden, I have pledged not to kiss you again. A pledge which I am already regretting at this moment – as only _demonstration _would answer your question completely." A smooth chuckle left him; the sound was surprising to him. Flirting, while fun and prone to providing him with laughter, involved a fine give-and-take, a bantering dance that he could normally remove himself from while still participating. However, now, even small hints of his true emotion came through. Zevran did not know if the Warden even guessed at it, but it was enough to make the creases of his abdomen tighten. Further, if he kissed her again…he did not know what would happen. Better to deflect, and bring it to a place where she was uncertain to follow.

"We can talk about kissing without _actually_ kissing."

"Oh, you think so?"

"Of course, we're not children." Nell crossed her arms just underneath her bosom – he looked. Mages really _did_ have delightful breasts in general, but _hers_- "Mm, you are so _very_ right, my dear…"

"Oh _pft_." Nell stood then, gently removing her hair from his lightly stroking grip and waving her arms in a remarkably effective shooing gesture – enough to make Wynne proud, he supposed. Despite her false fluster – she was no blushing virgin, and the conversation was not even _close_ to risqué for either of them, he knew – there was far less emotional tension about her, now. Physical tension was always between them, _would_ always be, but Zevran took a queer pride in knowing that it had been _his_ comfort that had eased her.

Though, now there was something he simply _had_ to know…

He was grinning, but at least he was backing away. Nell thought her breasts were still tingled even from his teasing, unheated glance. Just the mention of his kiss had made her remember _exactly_ how good the elf was at it, and her traitorous body wanted another …demonstration.

So, it was best that he go.

Once backed to the door, Zevran glanced out, and then plucked one of her waving hands from midair, as easily as if it had been still. He stared at her for a long moment – the light flirting expression of his features was gone, replaced by an expression that was guarded and watchful, though not stony, thank the Maker.

A slow smile caught over the assassin's mouth, dangerous in its presumption, in its _knowing_. As if in a dream, Nell watched him guide the tips of her middle and index fingers to his lips. A deft movement of his thumb saw it slip between the two digits and ride through the space between –a slow rubbing. Only _he_ could make such an otherwise innocent gesture somehow _intentful_ – tapping into a strange sensual knowledge that riveted her to the spot, with electricity shooting through her nerves, through her forearms, and to her spine. His eyes never left hers, and she could only part her lips on no words when his mouth - and the barest pressure of his teeth – slid lightly but warmly over the pads of her fingers.

Nell choked, softly.

Zevran chuckled.

"I look forward, my dear, to our next _adult_ conversation, yes?"

She wanted to flay him with words, but instead her eyes just dropped and her lips swelled, watching the dangerous play with her skin.

"Mm. Yes. That is a yes." He laughed then, eyes dancing, and released her, slipping out the door before she could do anything but throw hot breath at his retreating back, and stand there dumbly. Numbly. _Sinful mage_.

What if Alistair had seen?

_Oh, Alistair._ Nell sank against the wall, crossing her arms about her middle and letting her head fall back against the wall with a satisfying '_thunk_,' taking the dull pain it caused as her due. Guilt immediately clawed at her stomach, and Zevran's words echoed in her mind.

"_And you, my dear, can you own to such honesty to the man you claim to love?"_

No, she couldn't. And she still wouldn't. What she felt for Alistair was not the same as what she felt for Zevran, and even as the word _selfish_ echoed in her mind, Nell was also aware that complete honesty in love was a foolhardy notion. All couples had secrets, mystery – a space apart for themselves. Telling Alistair that she was attracted to Zev would only hurt him, and she would only _really_ hurt him if she followed her physical impulses.

The emotional impulses that she had towards the assassin – the tugs in her stomach when he was in pain, and the swelling of his heart when she knew he would remain – were not things that she was even prepared to confront in her own mind, never mind on Alistair's brokenhearted face.

Nell breathed deeply, resolving to keep herself together. Her skin was alive – curse the elf – and she was suddenly restless. A walk in the cool air would do nicely, and then a bath.

Oh, a _bath_.

She forced herself to think of luxurious warm water, and dirt, and scrubbing brushed, then opened the door – and walked right into Alistair's chest.

"Oh-!" She both breathed out and laughed.

"…We really need to stop meeting like this." His well-loved tones made her sigh; happy to hear the chuckle in his voice rather than stress. Large, calloused but gentle fingers lifted her up by the jaw, and Nell smiled into his blessedly soft face.

She was too good, really, at not letting her guilt show. Too good at blocking her mind, at opening the part of her heart that belonged to _my Alistair_.

He lifted his brows towards her, and then looked over his shoulder and back, eyes sliding over what she could only imagine were the dirtier parts of her face. The corners of his brown eyes crinkled, however, and she tilted her head.

"You've been crying – did _he_ – I saw him leaving…" Alistair's grip slowly firmed, and Nell immediately found herself babbling, trying to execute damage control.

"Oh! Oh." Nell shook her head furiously. "I mean. Oh. I _was _crying. And Zev insisted on talking. And I shooed him out."

_All true statements_ she told herself.

Alistair's frown deepened. "I don't trust him. I-" he sighed, lowering his hands slowly to squeeze about Nell's shoulders. "I know _you_ do, and I know I went a little crazy after- after everything, but I still think that you need to be careful. I don't want you alone with him."

Nell smiled gently, her hands of their own volition running down the fabric of his shirt. He had taken the time to undress from his armor, and the warm feeling of hard muscle under soft linen was a savored sensual delight. Every physical moment chased away the warmth left by Zevran's mouth on her fingers.

"Why were you crying?"

"Because I was upset. And worried about you – and…that was a _long_ journey, Alistair. And the Arl, and all that fighting, and-"

"_I_ made you cry?" The bereft tones of his voice were so sincere as to nearly be a caricature of broken-hearted guilt. Nell opened her mouth to respond but Alistair huffed out a frustrated breath, lowering his arms for leverage before hefting Nell towards his mouth as easily as if she were a doll.

She squeaked in surprise against his lips but surrendered happily. His mouth, at first, was soothing – the gentle press of his lips seeking some sort of forgiveness – but as Nell's body slid closer something strained, and then snapped in his demeanor. There was a pregnant pause where Alistair breathed against her mouth, and she cracked her lids. His eyes met hers, and she watched them melt – his gaze became dark chocolate, his jaw firmed. Anticipation cracked like a whip in her abdomen. Nell felt her skin flush just as his hand boldly snaked from her back to the swell of her bottom. He gripped, roughly, and uncharacteristically molded her frame to him, pushing her center to rub and chafe through cloth.

Nell breathed in raggedly. It had been _weeks_. And she was _primed_. Zevran had-

"Maker's _breath-_" Alistair's voice was low, caught halfway between surprise and desire. They were both dirty and tired, but the combined physical lack and emotional fallout was a potent cocktail. He stumbled forward awkwardly, kicking shut the door, and it was all Nell could do to prevent tripping over his feet and her own. The backs of her thighs smacked into something hard – _end table_, her mind supplied. Alistair was gripping her clothes like he was searching for purchase, and Nell only barely found the grace to perch herself on the edge of the furniture.

They had made love several times now. This was _not_ making love. It was visceral – the expression of concern, exhaustion, rage, care, and confusion of the last few weeks. It manifested in a jumbled sense of desperation – of _life_ and _you are here_ and _I need you_ and _I'm scared_. For Nell, it was also _I'm sorry_.

He was panting in her ear, and his hands were tight – hesitant but wanting, trembling up the pale length of her legs. Normally they dipped their toes into physicality and meandered through the steps slowly – perhaps Alistair somehow needed to cope with this facet of desire. Nell encouraged him, blatantly opening her thighs to his touch, letting her teeth rake on his neck – he liked that, always had. Distracting him from the novelty was the best that she could offer. She bit until he grunted – until he seized the hard-edged gilding of this, until he understood that it was _needed_, it was _alright_.

His rough fingers rode upwards until they found her; he slid the backs of his knuckles against the pulse at her center before turning his hand over, stroking with gaining confidence. Nell lifted for him, soft and submissive encouragement, letting her eyes flash into his to maintain their trembling connection. Her hands went for the ties at his waist, and Alistair swallowed, muscled throat working.

"Maker – Nell-" He _still_ had to ask, didn't he, at least with his eyes. She shook out her head, dipping her hand to find the length of him, manipulating the hot velvet in her palm; he choked and hissed. She brought her lips to his ear, whispering gutturally to her knight.

"Just make me _yours_."

"I-"

"Now. It's alright…have me."

He cursed. Alistair didn't swear much, but he was very fluent when he did. Perhaps he had wanted to affirm their connection more tenderly, but the rough rawness of it was something she knew that she needed. He needed it too – so often they put aside their flashes of lust for some higher calling; giving in to that bond was making her heart quake. He needed to know that she _wanted_, that he _wanted_, that it was okay.

Alistair was a man uncomfortable with his own desires and wants – he pushed them aside too often, unless they involved those he loved. He asked for little – he complained, surely, but he never offered an alternative. He almost never said _yes, this_. His life had been one of _be seen and not heard_, or being sent to the Chantry, of being saved or given what he wanted by hands other than his own. The only time she'd seen him follow a desire had been in his pledge to her; in his asking to come to her bed.

Sometimes, a man just needed to _take_. Perhaps this was the arena to learn, when it was just the two of them. Nell moved her bottom forward and tilted up her hips; she relinquished his arousal and pulled his breeches down roughly, flagrantly rubbing herself against him when she could. Tempting, teasing, and trying to get him to lose control.

He heaved in and out, raggedly, forehead beading with the effort – struggling to take all of the hints, to let go. Nell crashed her mouth on his – she bit and tugged with little care to pain. She needed him to do it – secretly, she needed him to erase the sensual stamp of another man as well, and brand himself on her. _Perhaps it will help there, too_.

Finally, after what seemed an hour but was probably a minute, he plunged. Gasped. Withdrew. Repeated. His eyes were squeezed shut and Nell just clung. She did little but remain open and encourage him, whispering filth into his ear that would have made Andraste weep. She fed on the ripples of his want, the coiled tension releasing. His fingers bruised on her hip, and the painful slap of her thighs on the corners of the end table would chide her come morning, but Nell didn't care.

Neither of them lasted long. Heat and sliding, slick sweat let them forget everything but flesh, until there was nothing but yellow stars, spiraling release, and oblivion.

And Alistair. _Only_ Alistair.

For now.


	22. Chapter 22

Author: aimorai

Word count: 2,775

_A/N: I apologize for the three-week break between chapters. This one took a lot of time and love for me to write – poor Nell has a lot on her mind. Some of the reviews have been calling for more Zev – I promise that is coming soon, but this chapter focuses on Alistair. A time-skip again to gathering the final component of the army to march against the Blight. As always, comments, criticisms, suggestions etc. are welcome!_

Whenever Nell felt that it was becoming alright to feel just a little bit sorry for herself, the world seemed to make a point of reminding her that she mattered not at all. That, in fact, her life was both meaningless _and_ forfeit to fate.

There were hundreds of thousands of them. Millions. The heat and the oppressive claustrophobia of the Deep Roads was nothing in comparison to the sight of the Darkspawn flowing like a river through the underbelly of the world, surrounded on all sides by lava. They were soulless creatures that had somehow found the favor of an ancient God, and they attacked with the zealous focus of ones who knew that they were supported by such power.

_And the Maker, whatever he is, turns his back upon His children_.

Nell felt the hollowness of that knowledge closing of her throat, making her choke on such a bitter pill.

She was supposed to fight _that_? All of those creatures, emissaries, ogres, and archdemon... It felt like she was going to have to take on each of them individually until the end of time. She was a Warden – the last of two. Even if she managed to get an army to fall in behind her, Nell had the sinking feeling that they would only prove to be fodder for death, and that she and Alistair alone would have to stand against all the evils of the past and present world and defeat them.

And even if they did, there were those monstrous _things_ birthing ever more of them, breeding like insects and parasites below the earth. The echo of 'Broodmother' was a refrain that Nell would never forget, and the sight of the pulsing beast, with its rows of teats and flailing limbs, would be burned behind her eyeballs as she slept.

If she ever managed to sleep again.

It was nigh impossible down here, so close to the horde. She heard a relentless buzzing in her mind that was slowly driving her mad. Nell knew that Alistair heard it too – his face was crinkled in pain at all hours, and in the night their tight bodies clung to each other simply because their connection provided purchase to the waking world, away from the lure of the nonsensical humming.

Each day in the Deep Roads led only to desperation, compounding a feeling of emptiness and futility. Nell found it hard to care about the drunken dwarf guiding them through the thaigs, or his obviously-crazy wife whose support was stupidly needed for meaningless political machinations.

At some point in her life, Nell knew, she would have found it all fascinating. Her teachers had told her that she had a mind meant for politics, that she would have done well in the upper echelons of the Enchanter ranks. She had been practical, logical, and able to hide her emotions and true intents with ease.

Now, however, she found herself looking for dark corners in which to weep.

The end was coming. An army that big meant a full-scale invasion of Darkspawn was nigh. She would collect the promise to honor the treaties from the dwarves and go to Denerim. And then?

All she saw when she thought of the possibilities was fire, flame, and death. Everything else faded to the background.

It didn't matter which dwarven king was put on the throne, or if they found Branka. It didn't matter who the ruler of Ferelden was, and it certainly didn't matter that Nell wished she'd never become a Grey Warden. She wanted, with all her heart, to be back in the Tower, worrying only about the next spell to learn and whether or not she impressed her superiors. She wanted hot baths and perfumed pillows. She wanted a long life and predictable expectations.

What she had, however, was choking black fate surrounding her and a heavy heart.

Nell didn't know if it was night or day, but she knew that everyone else was sleeping, or at least trying to sleep. Wynne and Oghren seemed to be having a subconscious snoring contest. It was just as well.

There was a faint dripping sound, and Nell headed towards it, unsurprised to find a small hole cut into the rock from centuries of water running through the earth. It was roughly the size of a broom closet, and faintly glowing with lyrium.

She wished she could move the rock within and bury herself inside of it. Nell crouched down in the dank hole and hugged her arms around her body, squeezing her eyes shut and giving in to the dark thoughts that whirled through her mind.

_Nothing matters_. _I don't matter. What I want and what I feel, they don't matter either_. She was shaking with the dark, sucking feeling that accompanied those simple, inescapable thoughts. She couldn't give into them when everyone else was around – they had to keep moving, she had to be a leader, and they had to be prepared for countless skirmishes with roaming Darkspawn. But in the dead of the endless night in the caves, _something_ had to give.

Visions of archdemons and broodmothers floated through her mind, and words chased after the visions too quickly for her to catch them.

"Nell?"

Nell closed her eyes and cursed. How in the world had Alistair had found her?

His approach had been so quiet – though that made sense, as he had on no armor. His face was barely more than a grey outline in the low light of the lyrium and the flicker of fire behind the opening, but her mind painted in the dark circles beneath his eyes, and the pale cheeks he'd been sporting since they entered the Deep Roads.

"It doesn't matter, Alistair."

She expected him to make a joke, but he didn't. He sidled his large frame through the crooked opening in the stone, and settled awkwardly across from her, kneeling against black rock.

"What doesn't matter?"

"_Any_ of this." Nell waved a hand towards the opening to the outside world, such as it was. "We're going to die."

"Well, not right this second…" There was the joke. Nell shook her head, thinning her lips even though he was likely not to see the expression.

"Alistair." She chided him with her tone, looking down at the black reflection of their bodies in the tiny river that snaked its way through the rock. "I mean that the Darkspawn are going to kill us. Now. Tomorrow. Thirty years…this is going to kill me. Kill you. We're going to die like this."

She gestured to their surrounds. In the best possible circumstances, Nell knew she would die here, in the bowels of the Earth, surrounded by Darkspawn. They would beat her. It was inevitable. Nothing she could do would take away that fate – unless the archdemon decided to kill her first. It could even be a fate worse than death – she could transform…_Broodmother_.

It was such a _helpless_ feeling. She was vacillating between anger and despondency.

Alistair sighed out, lifting his hands to rake back through his lengthening hair.

"I told you once that you never really did get the _good_ parts of being a Warden." He began, stopping only to obviously think about the words coming out of his mouth. "You've been stuck with _me_, and I haven't made this much easier on you. I should be leading, but…when I lead…bad things happen, people get lost, and suddenly I'm wandering around with no pants…" His face tilted, perhaps checking for her response to his rambling.

Normally, he may have gotten a smile at his self-deprecation, but Nell felt nothing. She'd heard it all before from Alistair – the great feasts in the hall, the boys' club of the Wardens, drinking contests and the like. His reminding her of it only made her feel more alone and less inclined to want the life she'd gotten herself into.

Alistair sobered, to his credit.

"What I mean is – even in those good days, I think we all knew that we had…the same fate." He gestured uneasily, but his voice took on the soft, even tones that he used when he was stripping away his façade and exposing his true feelings; Nell found herself holding her breath. The warmth of his voice, when he chose to use it, was hypnotic.

"And I _know_ I've thought about it, that it doesn't matter how many things I do, or what I do, or how well or badly I do it…I'll end up here." Alistair looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers in the strained white glow. "And when you think about it, it's terrible. You think about your fate, and that…that in the end, being a Grey Warden is what's going to guide most parts of your life, and there's no…getting around it. You're a Warden. Nothing else, no other title, strips it away."

Nell found herself nodding. She was seized by a curious envy – while Alistair was thoughtful and perhaps a bit sad, he had a good handle on his emotions. He was speaking deliberately, not from a raw place. She was angry and grateful at the same time, and the conflicting emotions were making her breath shallow. He heard the change in pace, it seemed. Alistair reached out one of his hands to grope for hers in the near-darkness. Once he found the digits, he played his own stronger fingers around them.

"But you're not a Warden _only_. You-" Alistair caught his breath, shuffling himself forward on his knees. "You can't be just that. If you think about all of it – when _I_ think about _all_ of it, the fighting and the killing and the dying, and nothing else, I go mad."

He cupped his hands around hers gently and squeezed. Nell forgot to breathe.

"And it must be so hard for you. I never thought I'd actually see a Blight – I had at least some time to accept some parts of all of this, and just sort of…_add_ to it, now. But you- you're a Warden and a leader and fighting a Blight all at once, and you've…we've had to see all this before our time…"

Nell choked out, not really realizing her throat was so tight. Her pulse was thready. His voice was guiding her towards the darkest place in her mind, a shadowy knowledge that was shaping itself into a monstrous figure, with tentacles and a greedy, foaming little mouth…

"At least you get to _die_, Alistair. They'll just _kill_ you here. They'll try to make _me_ into…"

"_No_." He clamped his free hand over her mouth, and Nell breathed in through her nose, almost in a panic. It had to come _out_, now, especially _now_ that she knew he saw. She fought, whipping her head back and forth.

Alistair brought a hand up to her shoulder and squeezed, forcing Nell steady.

"Don't think about it."

He could have been commanding, but his voice held the pinched tones of a plea. Alistair said so much with so little. She knew at once that _he'd_ been thinking about it, going _mad_, just like she was, thinking about it. Her shoulder wobbled under his grip, but he didn't relent. His shadowed eyes bored into hers, trying to find deep contact in the dark.

"Think about anything else." He licked his lips, continuing quickly. "There is life beyond the Blight, I promise you. It might not feel like it, but there is. There will be years and years, and if-_when_ you get through this, you will be happy. You will be able to find something to make all of it meaningful again. Anything you want. There'll be no Circle for you, and no Templars, and you'll be a Warden, but also _Nell_, and do things…rebuild, or go somewhere new, or…become a cheese-maker, _anything_, but think about _that_, please…"

Nell's heart burst, hit with the force of how _much_ Alistair loved her.

It would have been easy for him to give a promulgation of promises about how he would take care of her, how he would make it up to her, or say anything about actions that he could take to make this better.

But he hadn't.

Alistair had left himself out of her hastily-painted future. He didn't promise that he would be the one to make her happy – he wouldn't pretend that he might not die, or that things now or in the future were not based in reality.

He seemed to care only that she would be happy, whether or not he had anything to do with it.

If there was any better definition of love, Nell couldn't think of it. He didn't seem deliberate or coy, but rather had the open conviction of a man who was both desperate and sure all at once. Alistair had never _been_ so clear and firm with her, and she had a glimpse of not only her fellow Warden and lover, but the blood of kings within him, the leader that was trying to hide behind the reluctant Templar.

And _that_ was the man that she loved.

Nell breathed out hotly into his palm and then gripped at his shirt, hauling him forward until he was off-balance. His hand was forced to leave her shoulder and brace on the wall lest he crush her, and his surprised noise was swallowed against the press of her lips. Her tongue delved deeply into his mouth, and Alistair recovered quickly, sucking on it with his lips before trying to slake her sudden need for tenderness – he kissed her deeply but softly, slowly moving through each roll of his lips against hers as though he would drink forever. Each drag of his mouth was perfect, and loving, and _oh_ it was too much – she felt love, guilt, need, desperation, sadness and joy.

Nell didn't realize she was shaking and whimpering –_pathetically_- until Alistair was wrapping his arms around her and softly disengaging his lips from hers. He kissed a path from her temple towards her ear and quietly shushed her once he got there, while his fingers kneaded random patterns between her shoulders.

The soothing, much as it made her feel almost a child, was _so good_. Normally, their roles were reversed, and she was the one petting Alistair, or offering the gentle nothings in his ear to help him to sleep. Nell still felt the weight of the Blight, but sharing it with tears and half-formed words no longer seemed quite so selfish. If Alistair felt it was worth his while to stay and listen, then it was alright.

She didn't know how much time passed in the darkness, but time had no meaning in the Deep Roads, anyhow – or, perhaps more correctly, Nell found that it had only had the meaning that it was given.

Sometimes, it meant death. Perhaps desperation. It could mean endless swarms of darkspawn or endless moments of peace with someone who loved you.

Someone you loved in return.

They twined their fingers together and quietly talked – spoke of plans for the future, of what they had wanted to do with their lives when they were very young. They spoke of visiting other lands (but perhaps _not_ Orlais) and of future Warden recruits, and even of strange dreams in the Fade. It was nothing. It was everything. _Life_. Not death.

They only moved when both of them felt so cramped that stretching was pain, and their shared groans upon standing bounced around the inlet of rock that had transformed from a place of sorrow to one of solace – because of him.

He turned to lead her out, but Nell caught his arm.

"I love you, Alistair."

It was hardly the romantic setting he likely wanted and certainly deserved. They were squeezed into a hole of black rock inside of the earth, fighting for their lives, exhausted and hungry and weary. But, then again…Nell had never really had a good sense of timing.

Alistair stilled, just for a moment. The weak firelight from outside danced over his handsome face, which morphed from surprise and disbelief to tenderness in a heartbeat.

"And I love you, too."

Nell knew she'd never need to hear it again – she could carry the perfect way he said those words in her heart for the rest of her life, and they would never lose their potency. He smiled, gently, and touched her chin, then led her from the cave and back towards the campsite, clearing his throat.

"Let's try to sleep. We have a crazy woman to find in the morning – shouldn't be too hard, we attract them like moths to a flame…"


	23. Chapter 23

Author: aimorai

Word count: 3,065

_A/N: After another long hiatus, I'm trying to finish this story! Not sure how many more chapters there will be….things are coming to a head now! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I always appreciate comments and criticisms!_

_Landsmeet_.

It was all happening so fast.

All of the treaties had been collected and the Arl had pushed for riding hard to Denerim; before Nell had really had time to gather her thoughts about the potential future rulers of Ferelden, she was packed and shipped off, traveling with the entirety of Eamon's estate.

Having new traveling companions would normally have been very refreshing, but the voices flitting around her during the days and nights of moving sounded too much like the horde that she knew was living in the belly of the land. She couldn't really muster up the presence of mind to have a conversation that lasted more than five minutes, and by the time they'd arrived in Denerim, most of the staff had stopped trying to engage her. Nell felt badly about it, but she had weightier matters on her mind than wondering if her chambermaid liked her or not. Once, in a different life, it would have been the social focus of the trip. Now, it was just a distraction.

Alistair had seemed similarly afflicted. Nell knew that the prospect of his ascension to the throne weighed heavily on his mind. Her knight was adamant that he did not want to be king, but as always, the looming prospect of duty warred with his under-developed self-confidence. What if Arl Eamon begged? Would he be continually able to say no, or would he climb to the throne with a heavy crown? What would happen to him then?

Would he _want_ the throne after some time to get used to it and due diligence to the office? True, he was currently unschooled in politics and governance, but Alistair had a good heart and a proven bloodline. He was prone to flights of fancy, but he _could_ carry convictions. He was also young, and _not_ a blood relation to Loghain, the man that had betrayed them all – a very salient point in Nell's mind. He would be a kind-hearted king no matter what, and Nell was certain that, given time, he would prove to be a _good_ one as well.

However…would any of that matter if he hated it, and was doomed to live his life as dictated by the blood in his veins? So much of Alistair's life had been guided by hands other than his own, that Nell feared one more important decision being made _for_ him, rather than by him, might crush his spirit. And that was the last thing she wanted to happen.

What was the best choice for him? Nell didn't know, and she hoped she wouldn't be called upon to answer that question. The logical conundrum of _yes_ or _no_ was bad enough, but Nell also knew that it was not _only_ her mind that warred with itself; her heart was truly at the center of the fray.

One question, above all others, hurt to think about. _If Alistair were king…what would happen between us, then? _Nell knew she shouldn't think of their relationship with regard to his prospects of royalty, but she could barely help herself.

He'd need a queen, and at least the possibility of heirs. She was a commoner. She was a mage. She was a Grey Warden. The latter was bad enough in terms of birthing children, but even if a miracle were to happen in that regard, Nell knew that her commonality and magic would be all that anyone saw, regardless of her proven leadership and her rigid control of her magic thus far in her life. It wouldn't matter. The _stain_ of magic was not wanted in any bloodline, nevermind one supposedly ordained and protected by the Maker.

Nell wasn't stupid. She could foresee_ problem_s in their relationship should Alistair's royalty come to bear - even if the common wisdom said that kings didn't have to answer to any whims but their own, the more astute mind would argue, very convincingly, that kings were only as powerful as the strength of their support. And _no one_ would support her if he were to find a way to take her to wife– and thus, by extension, no one would support _him_.

The thoughts plagued her, day and night, though by some mutual unspoken accord, she and Alistair said nothing about it to each other. What was there to say?

They both knew that they loved each other, and they both knew of the consequences to each decision – what it meant if he were king, what it meant if he were not.

Of course…that the decision needed to be made at all was still in debate.

It seemed like her mind went around in circles of the same thoughts. Nell didn't know whether it was useful or futile; though she started to be aware that it was probably the latter once she got to Arl Eamon's house in Denerim and found herself confronted by a dire situation before she'd even gotten to unpack.

Nell stared at the Orlesian elf – Erlina - who had just entered her chambers and informed her that Queen Anora –the other candidate for royalty, as it were - was being held captive at the estate of Rendon Howe. And would very likely be killed.

"Hurry. My lady does not have much time."

_Hurry. Right._

Having just stepped out of her boots, Nell sighed, and wearily started to tug them back on while murmuring her assent. She bid Erlina to find Wynne, Zevran, and Alistair, and the brunette silently departed.

_Fantastic_.

Bitterly, Nell wondered if she should just let Arl Howe do away with Anora. It was a terrible thought, of course, but it would take much of the decision out of her hands. That would have been nice, for once, but…

It would still be a situation forcing itself upon Alistair.

Nell cursed, bitterly, just in time to hear a silken chuckle at her back.

"I don't know how I could ever leave your side, my Warden, if I heard such dulcet music from your lips all the time."

Nell smiled despite herself. Zevran's presence eased something within her; she'd missed him, and hadn't realized it until the nameless tension had abated. He hadn't accompanied them to the Deep Roads – though he'd offered – and even during their rushed riding Nell had barely caught a glimpse of him.

She straightened and threw him a look over her shoulder, though it completely lacked venom. "I'd ask for your forgiveness, but I don't really care."

His laugh made her grin; it was _easy_ between them again, and it made her heart swell. She turned to regard the assassin. He was particularly well-groomed on this day, and he was looking at her coolly, though with an air of interest.

"Before the others come, I-" Zevran paused, mid-sentence, and then started again. "Something is different about you, my dear."

"It is?" Nell blinked, raising a hand to her hair automatically to smooth any errant curls, but Zev shook his head, clucking his tongue a little bit as he prowled closer.

The tightening in her abdomen as he approached was familiar but somehow still shocking. Before she could protest, he lifted a tan finger to her cheek and tapped it, twice.

"You are very pale." He was studying her in an unfamiliar way – Nell got the queer notion that he was drinking in her appearance. His eyes were moving from her jaw to her neck.

"Well, I was underground for awhile-"

"Mm, yes, but -that is not it. Are you sleeping?" His golden eyes flashed to hers quickly before relenting, and Nell's breastbone felt hot.

This was extremely unlike Zevran – there was no joking, no banter, no teasing her about how she looked as he would usually do if he saw something out of sorts. There was a playfulness to him that was part and parcel to his character, but- there was nothing of the superficial in this exchange. He was being very _familiar_, very…. Concerned. In his own, direct way. Nell's head swam with a mixture of confusion and awareness. She licked her lips quickly, and the right corner of Zevran's mouth ticked upwards.

"Not really." She admitted, though her voice was dangerously unsteady. For her own sanity, she took a step backwards. He let her. "Though that is nothing new. The Landsmeet-" Nell waved a hand in explanation, rubbing a hand across her stomach distractedly.

"…I see." Zevran nodded, though a frown crossed his eyes. "You should not worry, my dear. It is not really anything of your doing, no? Something for other people to decide, yes?"

"I wish it were that simple, Zev." Her shoulders fell; her pretense of strength was quickly losing the battle against her weariness and the want to be comforted.

"You do too much, Warden." Zevran waggled a finger in front of her nose, though the lightness didn't reach his eyes, which were soft amber, still regarding her. "Even now, are we not riding off to – save the Princess, yes? You should leave that to knights."

"The Queen." Her lips ticked upwards as she corrected him, and Zevran laughed.

"If we were in Antiva, you would know there is no need to worry. There is always a new Queen tomorrow." He was joking, but there was still something of the serious in the line of Zev's body; the way he was leaning in, and not back. There was nothing improper – they were more than a body's length apart – but she suddenly felt a curious intimacy.

Some deep part of her had been hoping that telling Alistair that she loved him – and truly meaning it, as she had - would change _something_ between her and Zevran. That perhaps it would have acted like an unspoken wall, or a buffer for her heart. That it would transform, somehow, the very nature of their chemistry. She realized that she'd been expecting herself to become virtuous and immune to the charms of anyone else but her beloved.

But her stomach was doing flips and rolls at even this most basic expression of worry from the assassin, so that was clearly _not_ the case.

_Why?_

From her clouded mind, Nell focused on the staccato pounding of her heart. On the warm feeling spreading up her forearms. On the strange mental _calm_ she felt even when her body was singing. On the quiet humility that Zevran's concern evoked – the same way that Alistair's did. On the way that thinking of her beloved brought to mind a fuzzy image – a meld of two faces. One golden, one soft.

Nell felt her lips part; her eyes touched Zevran's. She held her breath. He took a step closer.

A slow kernel of recognition planted and bloomed deep in Nell's chest. It had nothing to do with lust and everything with the way that she instinctively let her guard down around Zevran. Of how comfortable he made her feel. And how alive. And how it was entirely different but _no less deep_ than what she felt with Alistair.

The thoughts fluttered around in Nell's heart like elusive butterflies. She hooded her eyes against the rush of awareness – she felt her body shake and put her hands into fist to ward them away. It was a struggle not to name the emotion. She both _knew_ what it was but would not give in to it in the same moment.

_No_.

They had other things to think about.

She felt, rather than saw, Zevran stiffen across from her when she looked away. His voice was dangerously low – focused and intimate. "Warden?"

"Have you seen Alistair?" She suddenly shot her eyes to Zevran's face, holding on to her brittle façade for all it was worth. "He'll be coming along."

She had been warming, a little blush to her cheeks, but now she was shaking.

Zevran was completely at a loss as to what he had done, what had happened. His Warden seemed likely to fall over if she felt a gust of wind at her back. He was aware enough to know that she was trying to hide the reaction, but he was far too gifted of an assassin to _not_ be reading her body language.

When Erlina – such a pretty, serious little thing – had come to summon him, it had given him all the excuse he needed to make his way directly to his Warden's door. He had meant to speak with her about whispers of Crows in Denerim, but upon seeing her so pale and tight, his mind had abandoned the worry to focus entirely on hers.

The source of his haste and abstraction was locked away in his mind; it did not matter enough to be said. He had already learned about caring and loss – the lesson did not need to be repeated.

But here they were, with her trembling like an autumn leaf, and with her mouth just so, her eyes alight – He'd moved closer. Her eyes dropped to his lips – his chest seized.

Then….it was gone. He felt his jaw harden at the mention of Alistair, and he smoothly backed away from her, moving immediately to the door. Ostensibly, he was checking on the presence of the man in question – though it was, in reality, to check his expression and demeanor. He felt like carving into something.

Zevran had been away from his Warden for weeks; it was enough to see the difference in her when she returned, the way that she touched her fellow Warden. Something had transpired in the Deep Roads. The knowledge had clutched a vise around his ribs.

"Ah, no. And he is not in the hallway yet – wait." Zevran peered, looking for a long moment at the tall man clanking his way down the hallway. "He is coming. And with your fellow mage, as well."

"Good." She seemed to have composed herself behind his back. "Then we're ready. We should probably go out there-"

"Of course." Zevran opened the door to let his Warden out. As she moved by him, Zevran felt her fingers touch his side; he glanced at her to find her lovely hazel eyes directly on his. His abdomen clenched – but he kept his face blank. "Hmm?"

"You wanted to say something, when you came in…?"

He picked up his hand to flick his fingers backwards dismissively. "It can wait. I look forward to finding this Queen. I am hoping for a reward." He grinned – feral, but without heat.

Curiously, he felt his Warden's fingers flutter on his abdomen as she chuckled, but before Zevran could inquire as to her strangely – and alluringly – altered state, the rest of their group was upon them.

His Warden's shoulders straightened, all traces of her weakness gone.

"You've all been informed, yes?" As one, each person nodded, calmly assured in her leadership. "We should go up the back alleys – they'll see us coming from the main streets…"

Zevran listened, quietly, as the Warden continued to speak. Though he was paying attention, his mind cast back to that moment in the room where he would have bet all the gold in Antiva that she was about to kiss him.

Her plan was working. Though there were the usual sorts of people in back alleys – mercenaries and cutpurses- just the sight of two full-fledged mages, a knight, and an elf armed to the teeth was enough to convince them not to fight. They had come across none of Rendon Howe's scouts, and the estate was close.

Nell was just allowing herself to relax when a shadow fell across the rickety stairway leading towards the northern side of Denerim. Nell looked up, flummoxed, to see a man, wearing the unmistakable leather of the masters he claimed– similar to Zevran's own, though this particular man was far less sultry in the outfit, and he had a Ferelden look to him. She straightened and firmed her jaw to mask her surprise, though just behind her, she could feel tension rippling off of Zevran like a wave – it was sudden, and violent. Alistair drew himself up beside her, but said nothing.

"And so here is the mighty Grey Warden, at last. The Crows send their greetings, once again."

Nell opened her mouth to accost the Crow, but she felt Zevran slide to her right – the leather of his left glove touching her hip – just a brush of knuckles.

"So, they sent you, Taliesen? Or did you volunteer for the job?" His voice was at its haughty best. Nell recognized Zevran's bravado for what it was, though the other Crow – Taliesen – seemed amused.

"I volunteered, of course. When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself." Nell had the passing thought that flippancy seemed to be the nature of all Crows.

"Well, here I am. In the flesh." Zevran made a subtle movement towards Taliesen, opening his arms for inspection. She felt like she was watching two conversations at once – what was said, and what was not said.

Taliesen subtly narrowed his eyes, and cut to the chase.

"You can return with me, Zevran. I know why you did this, and I don't blame you. It's not too late. Come back, and we'll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake."

Zevran seemed at a loss for words. He was staring up at Taliesan, his face unreadable, eyes masked. Nell could sense something – indecision, fear, or hesitancy, she wasn't sure. What she _was_ sure of, however, was that the very last place she wanted Zevran to be was back with the Crows. Her heart squeezed at the very idea, and before she knew what she was doing, she'd moved to step in front of the elf. She heard his surprised intake of breath behind her, but Nell stood her ground. To her left, she saw Alistair's eyes on her, but his hand slowly moving towards his shield.

"Of course, I'd need to be dead first."

She felt, rather than saw, Zevran's slow smile behind her back. He moved dangerously close, though his eyes were on Taliesan, who laughed.

"I'm sorry, my old friend." Zevran's accented words floated up past Nell's ear. "But the answer is no. I'm not coming back. And you should have stayed in Antiva."

The flash of smoke signaled the start of the fight, and she heard Zevran chuckle low behind her. "Here we go!"


	24. Chapter 24

Author: aimorai

Word Count: 3,944

_A/N: I found this Chapter particularly difficult to write, so I apologize in advance for the weeks-long wait! Some of the dialogue/choices are altered from exactly how they appear in the game; I try to use these scripts as a guideline for my characterization, but I hope that the necessary small alterations make sense for this story. I hope it doesn't ruffle any feathers, and if it does, I apologize! As always, I own nothing, and comments, criticisms and compliments are always welcome. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story; I'm humbled._

The fight was fast and furious, a testament to the Crows and their methods. At the end of the day, an assassin wanted his kill to be clean and quick – ideally, it should always over before the target became aware that his life was going to end. Thus, Taliesen had been at an immediate disadvantage before the first arrow was loosed; they'd all known what was going to happen the moment that he stepped forward. Thus, Zevran smelled a victory. He was more excited about it than normal. A nameless bubbling in his chest spurred his knives to slash in vicious and calculated arcs, and his eyes never left Taliesen even as he cut down others in his path.

His Warden had cavalierly stepped in front of him, but as soon as the battle had started, she had wisely retreated. He'd noted, as well, that she aimed her magic at anyone but Taliesen – she and Alistair had, in fact, focused their combined ire on the poor young recruits that assassin had brought as lambs to the slaughter. They made a deadly team – her freezing magic would root them to the spot, and Alistair would hack limbs from torso in shattering strikes that seemed as though they would be torturous to those who had to feel, in their last moments, the sensation of actually being rendered into nothing more than spare bits of flesh.

The only reason for their behavior that he could gauge in his battle-fever was that she- and perhaps Alistair, as well – sensed that it should be _he_ that downed his former friend and partner.

He and Taliesen came together easily – still, to this day, there was a gravity between them that he would have been a fool to deny. Zevran wasted no time at all in seeking a quick kill; any feelings that he'd once had for Taliesen had been long ago perverted by Rinna's death until they had finally settled into a lump of twisted anger and remorse deep in his stomach. Taliesen represented all that was sad in the world; he was at once betrayal, regret, and a complete lack of trust and morality. While Zevran could hardly claim to understand any of those higher ideals, he had had a taste of them in these last few months, and in comparison, the callow way of life that his old partner represented felt all the more bitter on his tongue.

The sounds of battle faded but for the scraping of steel on steel – the high-pitched singing sound reverberated in his ears as Taliesen countered each blow with a lazy assuredness that came from knowledge. They had, of course, practically taught each other to fight; it should be no surprise that Taliesen was intimately acquainted with every twitch of Zevran's muscles. The elf firmed his jaw and pivoted – it would be wise to get out of Taliesen's sight. However, his rival put out a leg and tripped him, laughing all the while.

"Nothing changes, Zevran! You are a _fool_ to think you can _ever_ escape the Crows. Not in here." He rapped a knuckle against the side of his head; Zevran growled, swiftly rolling up to stand.

"And you, my friend, are a fool to think you know anything about it at all." He smirked, and then…Zevran did something stupid. _Intentionally_ stupid. He widened his arms to each side, effectively giving Taliesen the perfect shot to open him from navel to nose, flipping the angle of his daggers to a backwards grip as he did. Taliesen seemed startled at the maneuver and missed his opportunity; at that moment, Zevran knew he had guessed aright. Taliesen's arrogance had led to shock that something was different, rather than to appreciation in recognizing an advantage.

Quick as a flash of sunlight, Zevran brought both arms together, and felt the steel bite through the flesh of his old friend's throat. Blood gushed forth like a river, and the last sound out of his friend's usually-laughing mouth was a quiet gurgle of death and disbelief.

Zevran closed his eyes as Taliesen fell at his feet, inhaling the salty fresh air of the sea deeply into his lungs. The quiet and ungraceful _thump_ of his body brought all other sounds to life –the clashing of blades had abated, replaced the panting breaths of his companions, the sound of Alistair's steel sliding home, the murmur of his Warden's voice as she appraised any injury to her knight and Wynne.

He smiled, and opened his eyes to life, looking down to the dirt. The sticky pool of Taliesen's blood was converging around his leather boots. He deliberately took a step back, and watched the trickling volume of it approach a slatted drain, which was situated in a dip of the alleyway. The red liquid began to drip into the darkness. Those drops were strangely lonely-looking to him in that moment of clarity – the small, disjointed elements of a life that had ultimately meant…nothing. Taliesen had been joyful, cunning, swift, and talented, but he had never been _free_. His death would amount to nothing more than being a nameless body in an alleyway, uncared for by the Crows or anyone else in life – washed away by rain, and eaten by worms. The drops of his blood would do nothing but dirty the water that was lifted to the mouth of some scraggly child in the alienage. Because they had never been _his_.

"Poor Taliesen…" He mused to himself for a moment, and then lifted his eyes to find his Warden skirting around the body like the refuse that it was, and coming to him. Hearing him, her response was merely to look at the body and sniff. _Dismissively._

Zevran found the reaction _very_ apt. His blood was singing, and for once, his Warden was not the source of his headiness. Well – not entirely, anyway. There was another feeling rushing through him now – something that he'd only thought of as a boy. _True_ freedom. The idea that he could be completely unfettered by anything –oaths, emotions, slavery and even circumstance. His Warden seemed to sense it in him; she looked back up at him and lifted one brown brow, inviting commentary on his thoughts without words.

For once, Zevran did not know where to start. He shook his head, saying all that he could in the moment.

"There it is." He gestured to the body as if it would explain everything for him, but his Warden didn't even look at it. She was scrutinizing his face in the manner that he hated; he felt like her soft gaze was a knife, dissecting out the pieces of himself that he would have preferred to remain hidden. Zevran turned from her eyes and walked a few slow paces to a corner of the alleyway – protected from the large open space in which they'd fought by an awkward corner where two buildings came together haphazardly. Nell followed. He looked over his shoulder at her, and then beyond. He could see that Alistair, in the distance, caught their retreat out of the corner of his eye. The knight straightened in reaction; then, Zevran watched him, after a long moment, slowly turn away and speak deliberately to Wynne afterwards.

What a _curious_ reaction. Zevran filed it away to think on later; right now, he had to deal with his sharp-eyed Warden. He turned, settling his shoulders in the small corner of privacy and crossing his arms about his middle. He looked up at his Warden through half-hooded eyes, trying to reveal nothing. His voice was carefully matter-of-fact.

"Taliesen is dead… and I am free of the Crows." He licked his lips after saying it, trying to chase after the strong taste of elation that followed those words. Nell's brow furrowed; he explained further.

"They will assume that I am dead along with Taliesen. So long as I do not make my presence known to them, they will not seek me out."

His Warden still seemed confused. Her stance indicated that she wanted to say quite a few things but held herself due to her unsure footing. Those eyes of hers drifted back and forth along his face, and then she pressed her pretty lips together, eventually opting for a light rebuff, which surprised him.

"That's a good thing, right?" Her joking tone was only semi-forced, and he chuckled, lips on one side of his mouth curling back slowly to reveal an eyetooth.

She didn't understand.

Zevran found himself… surprised. He'd thought she would. His Warden had been a mage locked in a prison disguised as an ivory tower; surely she should have some inkling of what he meant by those words. _Freedom_. He'd given his oath to her because he'd had no other recourse at the time. While it did mean something to him, his options even in his escape from the Crows had been limited to slavery or death. Now, the only limitation was his imagination. He tried to carefully explain, enunciating each word with care. Slowly he lifted his eyes to find hers, bowled by how much he wanted her to _see_ his point of view.

"It seems I have options now, whereas once, I had none. Yes?"

The fact that she said and did nothing was more telling for Zevran than anything. Both her body and her demeanor quieted, and in that moment his Warden was not unlike a doe that suddenly stood shock-still, sensing some change in her fragile meadow world. _Now she sees_. Slowly, color rose to her features. Zevran willed himself to memorize the beautiful moment as it happened –a slow flush suffusing her cheeks, her pink lips reddening softly, her hazel eyes blooming with gold around the rim, holding within them a mixture of recognition and uncertainty that triggered the impulse to soothe her, which he mercilessly squelched.

Zevran was at war with himself.

Killing Taliesen meant freedom. _True _freedom.

_If_ he left his Warden.

Staying with her would out his presence to the Crows swiftly. She was gaining fame beyond Ferelden. No doubt he had been reported as traveling with her by some gossip or informant looking for two coins to rub together, and he knew that the same would happen again before a fortnight was out.

So, it seemed, did she.

Taliesen's death was all the excuse, all the _reason_ that he needed to leave her. As she'd so eloquently said before, his oath meant nothing to her- what it meant to _him_ was important in her eyes. He knew, fiercely, that it meant nothing now. The words were said under duress, and he'd tried to use them to justify the attachment that held him to her. But those words… were wind. The veneer of that lie had been rubbed off the moment Taliesen had died, and all that was left to them was the mutual knowledge that the reason he had stayed for so long was because he was using her for protection. Despite anything else between them, that much was certain. _But does it mean I have to go?_ The fact that he had not simply left spoke volumes to him; her opinion, her _need_ of him, mattered. And he did not know how she felt.

"…I see." Her words were quiet, and unexpectedly weighty. She seemed almost sad, but resigned. Her eyes left him to study some imaginary pattern on the wall. "I suppose you do have options." A slow smile crept onto her lips, though it did not banish her melancholy. Zevran noted that her arms crossed about her midsection, and her fingers curled into her robes beneath her elbows.

Something compelled him to continue. While she looked away, he drank in the expression on her face. A deep want rose unwelcomed from his breastbone; a _need_ for her to say something. He prodded, making his voice deliberately glib.

"I am wondering if it is not time for me to leave. That would be the practical thing to do, no?"

He was happy to see that he could still rile her – Nell's eyes snapped back to him, her lips pressed together before she replied bluntly. "It would be the practical thing, yes."

Then, his Warden sighed. Deeply. She pressed her eyes closed and then opened them, speaking a quiet truth. "Staying with me destroys your chance at freedom."

Zevran nodded slowly, raising one of his hands and gesturing with it languidly towards the sky. "Mm." It was a quiet assent, but she reacted visibly to it, her face transmuting to hesitance as she searched his eyes. He was a little uncertain of taking this tack with her, but the breathless and odd anticipation that had speared him refused to let go now that he'd decided to question her – even though he did not know the ultimate conclusion to this conversation, now. He caught her eyes, held them. Heard himself as if from another world away.

"There is a freedom awaiting me that I have never known. But… I suppose the decision is yours, my Warden." Her eyes widened. He pressed.

"Will you let me go?"

The question held so much meaning for Zevran that his voice nearly faltered at the end of it. Some part of his mind mocked him; he was chained to her whether or not she gave him the key to unlock himself. But it was _her_ mind that he needed understand. He had to know how she felt. Twice now, he'd read her body language towards him, and the depth of it had made him pause; made him dare to hope that there might be _something_ in her that was as deep as what he felt around her – that thing he refused to acknowledge, but yet wanted to much to catch in her demeanor. And so they were here – with him cruelly leaving her to guide his fate; to decide what she had no right to pass judgment on- and thus risk his ire - because he simply _had to know_ where her heart laid. It was cruel of him, he knew, but his compulsion would not abate.

#######

Nell's world was spinning. Zevran had practically waylaid her, and then proceeded to stomp on her heart with the vicious precision of a man that was seeking to kill an interloping insect. She wasn't sure if that was his intention – he was damnably hard to read at the moment, all languid limbs and guarded eyes – but it was her reality.

He laid out his situation with all the glibness of someone trying to decide between chocolate cake and rat vomit. _Well, Warden, should I have the freedom topped with frosting or a bite of resentment if you say that you want me to remain with you?_

The thought of Zevran leaving made her want to cry, to reach out and shake him and damn him for ever showing up at all. She had just realized the kernel of feeling for him in her heart,and now _this_. Nell knew, suddenly, that she could have gone on for years as it had been, plying Zev's oath in trade for his presence, wickedly drowning in the excitement of a secret attraction whilst keeping Alistair well-loved and in the dark.

The selfishness of it all slammed into her.

Perhaps it was best he go.

He was making her act foolishly, irrationally, and immorally.

Tears came to her eyes, a wellspring that didn't quite brim over. She was angry, on top of it all. Because he'd even _tried_ to make her choose. For asking for his own freedom – which was his to take! – and thereby mocking whatever relationship they'd developed. Now she was suddenly not his friend, but merely the keeper of his chain. And he wanted her to unlock it.

She tried to summon the words. _Go, Zevran. Be free._ They died on her tongue. Because the bastard assassin, for all of his wiles, couldn't make her choose his fate. Not this time. This time, what happened was on _his_ conscience. He had to make his choice.

He had to know that he _could_.

"…If you want to go, you should go." She looked down at the cobblestone as she spoke, resigned to it. Hating it. Feeling the yawning chasm of sadness. _He must want to go, why else would he bring it up?_

Her answer, however, seemed to shock him. He straightened, bristling.

"But, my dear, that is what I am asking you. Would you let me? Or do you…need me, here?"

Nell found his with hers, unwittingly transmitting her angry pain. He blinked in response to it. "Do I _need_ you?" She shook her head; Nell felt some of the curls of her hair free from her high bun. _Yes. I need you_. "I don't want you to go. But this is not about _me_." Her hands flew up in the air, jerkily. "This is your freedom we're discussing here. Your _life_. I want you to do what's best for _you_, Zev. I don't… I don't know what that is, but what I want should absolutely the furthest thing from your mind. What I want…doesn't count compared to what you want." She found herself practically pleading with Zevran, trying to make him understand that this was one decision she _could not _make.

He looked flummoxed, and then his eyebrows knitted together. He looked over her right shoulder; his eyes burned molten gold. "That is very far from the truth, my Warden." He looked back at her, and Nell felt her knees weaken. Zev lifted an arm and trailed the backs of his fingers from her shoulder down towards her elbow, watching the motion as he spoke. Nell got the sense he was trying to distract himself from the weight of the moment with such a feather-light touch; it felt _tender_, and it soothed her.

"I…do not know…" He was searching for words; she was searching for her breath. He extended one fingertip and brushed it lightly along the downy hair of her forearm, towards her wrist. "Normally, these things have always been decided by others. I tried once, and-" His eyes flashed up to hers. "It turned out to nearly kill me, yes?" Zevran's finger slowly whirled across the back of Nell's hand before falling away. He took in a deep breath. She was waiting for _his_ decision, and her heart was on the line. Though either way, she had a feeling it might break.

"I suppose… I shall stay." He looked to her face – the moment of decision was clear as a bell on his features; his jaw hardened with it, and he seemed almost amused, shaking his had. "Is that…that is good, yes?"

Nell's heart contracted in her chest, and she found herself propelled to give the damnable elf a vicious hug. "If that's what you _really_ want, then yes. Yes."

#######

They'd been behind that wall for _too long_.

Alistair was trying not to stalk over there and demand to see all hands – though he could see Nell partway, and it eased him just a little. Wynne was helpful in the not-stalking regard, tutting over some superficial wound to his hand in a grandmotherly fashion that made him keep still.

He considered himself a patient person, and even understanding – when he wanted to be. Nell had repeatedly admitted to a kinship with the elf; she had a dramatic flair to her, and it hadn't even bothered him that she'd stepped in front of the assassin in a show of support. He could understand the impulse to both assert her authority and protect what she cared about. Maker knew, they had that in common – and he carried around a big shield and a suit of armor to prove it to anyone who might ask. He also understood the need to speak with him about killing his friend – even if it was a need Nell had more than _the assassin_, as Alistair assumed that the killing wouldn't really have affected _the assassin _all that much. Since he was _an_ _assassin_ after all.

No, it was the _other_ things.

It was that Zevran was always there first when they called a meeting of the minds. It was that more and more of the conversations between those two seemed to be private; it was that she talked with her eyes with the elf in a way that she also did with _him_.

Alistair knew he could be stubborn, and sentimental, and even had a penchant for pouting. But he wasn't _stupid_. He believed Nell when she told him that she loved him, but he also believed his eyes when they told him that being in love didn't protect her from potentially developing other affections. And he believed his gut when it told him that the assassin would only care about her attachment to him if _she_ cared about it. The elf was dangerous in far more ways than one.

His growl at his thoughts made Wynne startle, her willowy voice a tiny balm. "Did I hurt you, my dear?"

"No!...No." He shook his head, ramming his free hand through crisp brown hair. "Sorry, I was thinking."

Wynne's smile was slow and catlike – she was wily, despite her years. "Did _that_ hurt?"

"Oh, ha ha ha. Veeeery funny, let's all pick on Alistair, who is _hurt_, mind you…"

She laughed and continued, and Alistair sighed dramatically outwardly – for Wynne's benefit – though sighed more deeply internally.

Privately, he wondered if Nell was simply reeling as he was – from the upcoming Landsmeet. Alistair didn't know _which_ way to think about it all. He didn't _want_ to be king, but he didn't want to leave Ferelden in a lurch, either. Anora seemed a good queen – or at least a competent one- but it wasn't hard to imagine that Loghain's actions would taint her reign and put the country into a right mess. It was difficult to gauge what Nell was thinking in the midst of the whirl. Was she up nights, like he was, wondering about their future? The country's future? The Blight? Was it too much for her? Was she looking for a little tenderness on the side? Maker knew he hadn't been much there, recently – he'd needed to _think_…

Alistair _loved_ Nell, deeply. He was humbled even to be around her. That she was a mage only heightened his regard – the world was on her shoulders, put there largely by _him_, and not only did she rise to the occasion, but she did so with the extra burden of knowing that any moment demons would spring forth from her if she went just a _little_ mad. And they were all of the rest of them going a little mad, and she wasn't allowed to, and it wasn't fair to her. Not…that he'd made it easier. Not good credentials for a king – shirking his first responsibility to the world by _not_ handling the Blight. It just spoke deeply to the matter at hand – would he be a _good_ kind, duty be damned? He wasn't sure. He didn't think so.

And… if he _were_ king, he couldn't marry her, or even be _with_ her in any manner but secretly, and she deserved better – so was she going to the Antivan because she was scared? Assassin…backup plan? _Maybe she –should- be with someone else… someone who could…But I __**love**__ her._

They had made plans for _forever_ when forever had seemed to be a fairytale – a wonderful dream that ended and began with love. Alistair didn't know if it would be crueler to give up on those moments entirely, or to watch as she slowly realized they might not come true with him.

He shook his head violently.

Perhaps it was all in his mind.

Alistair glanced over towards their conversation again, only to see his Nell launch herself into tanned arms that only barely caught her, with a dazzling smile- she was happy, relieved…

He turned back to Wynne. And balled his fists.


End file.
